


I Prefer to Be Happy, But Self-Hate Will Do In a Pinch

by IWillBeYourPet



Category: Oz (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Anal Sex, Beecher is a poor broken crazy fucker, Blow Jobs, Broken Characters, Canon Compliant Through First Season, Chapters of wildly differing lengths, Complete, Dom/sub, Domestic Violence, Drug Use, Dubious Consent, Emotional Characters, Face Slapping, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, If You Think This Has A Happy Ending You Haven't Been Paying Attention, M/M, Male Slash, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Not Romance, Not a Love Story, Or maybe they do, People dont change, Poorly written drug abuse, Psychological Trauma, Rough Oral Sex, Stockholm Syndrome, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Vern had the potential to be good he just never got there, a tiny bit of Beecher/Keller, and then it goes different, everyone is fucked up, everyone is out of prison for most of story, mentions of Tobias Beecher/Ryan O'Reily, whoops wrong fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:47:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 27
Words: 87,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24186118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IWillBeYourPet/pseuds/IWillBeYourPet
Summary: In this story before the riot Schillinger went to solitary and ended up getting his parole. Without Schillinger to keep getting Beecher back into the shit he eventually got his parole, but while he was in he ended up with Ryan for protection and because he needed a friend.  Some of the same stuff happened to Beecher and with Ryan as his bestie he stayed on drugs. (fyi - the accuracy of the drug use/description here is not great)When he gets paroled he is broken, addicted and has given up.  He's staying with a friend of Ryan's on the outside, still taking orders, still getting high and it's what he thinks he deserves anyways.Vern's life has been shit since he got paroled.  He doesn't want to be a bad person anymore, and he has no idea how he can ever redeem himself.  If it's even possible for people like him.  So he gets a crappy job anywhere he can.  Where, of course (because otherwise there wouldn't be a story) he runs into Beecher.And he thinks he found how he can be redeemed.  If he can save Beecher, maybe he can make up for some of the bad he did and save himself. Except the two of them together has only ever led to pain and suffering.Some people might just be too broken to fix.
Relationships: Tobias Beecher/Vern Schillinger
Comments: 10
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

When he got paroled his family never knew. He didn’t tell them, not that they came to see him anymore. No paperwork would be sent to them, and ideally he would just disappear off somewhere. All of them, especially his children, would be better off without him.

He had the money in his accounts, mostly untouched since he came into Oz but he knew that it wouldn’t be enough. Especially not with the name and place stuffed in his pocket that he had gotten from O’Reily. The mick had been quite happy to show his favorite customer the way to his friends on the outside, pretty much ensuring that just because he beat Oz he wouldn’t beat his habit.

That was how he found himself leaning against Colin’s couch, practicing his Oz eyefuck on the dealer trying to negotiate a price with Colin.

“Beecher, knock it off.”

He started a little, Colin hadn’t even looked up, but he let the eyefuck slip into a frown and rolled his eyes as it was beneath him anyway.

The price was finally decided and Colin followed him to the door with a few parting comments and then turned to Beecher, giving him a hard look. Beecher managed to look away without seeming to give in as he pushed away from the couch. “Seems like a nice guy.”

He paused and then moved forward, brushing past Beecher. He knew Beecher was useful; he picked up new customers, got information and spent some money on the product himself. It didn’t hurt that he didn’t mind the trip to Oz to visit Ryan; in fact Beecher seemed to get giddy whenever an impending trip to Oz was in the works.

“Don’t fuck with the customers Beecher.”

He shrugged like he couldn’t care less what Colin said but a quick glance up to see if Colin was mad betrayed the dismissive gesture.

“Don’t you have work?”  
“Yea… I need some before I go.”

He eyed Beecher standing there with his hand out and raised an eyebrow at him. “Excuse me?”

“Come on, just gimme and let me go.”

“After work Beecher. You know that.”

He whined, “Why?”

“You know why. Your boss said if you show up high one more time you’re fired.”

“Good. I fucking hate it there.” Colin gave him a look and he could see he was pushing it so he turned to look for his shoes. He couldn’t help but mumble, “Don’t know why I have to work there.”

Colin laughed, “It’s about the only thing you can do Toby. Besides, you make good money there and you need to earn your keep.”

He sat down to pull on his shoes and gave Colin a dirty look, but he knew he was right. He had come out of Oz and found that outside of the law he had no talents. It had been O’Reily’s idea for him to work at the strip club.

He had told O’Reily where he could shove that idea, but at the threat of his fix and the couch he crashed on being gone he found himself working at a place called Cuffs and Collars.

Only O’Reily could have found a gay strip club that catered to men of Aryan persuasion. Ryan could make everything work to his advantage – even the crude swastika on Beecher’s ass. The owner had taken one look at the scar and hired him.

That was a few months ago and he hated every second off it, big and usually drunk men whistling at him as he wiggled around a pole. He cringed at the thought and shuddered.

“You okay?”

He quickly wiped the look off his face; he shouldn’t have let so much emotion show. “Yea, I’m fucking fine.” Work had been easier when he could do it high, but his boss had put an end to that. Which left him begging for his fix like a kid waiting for his allowance. 

“Well then get your ass to work before you’re late.” He spared a moment to throw a pissy glare at Colin before heading out the door.

His actions were automatic as he slipped by the bouncer, ignoring as always when the bouncer greeted him with a slap on the ass. He moved quickly, throwing his clothes in his locker as he shimmied into his costume.

He was heading towards the stage as Taylor was coming off. He caught Beecher’s arm, “They finally hired a new floor boss, he starts tonight.” He shrugged off the hand, endlessly annoyed when it didn’t faze Taylor. “Hopefully he’s better than the last one.” Their fellow dancer Kyle still hadn’t returned to work after the beating he had gotten.

That at least Beecher could get behind, and he nodded as he moved towards the edge of the stage, waiting for his cue. The song didn’t start right away and he impatiently shifted his weight as the microphone came on. “Sorry about the delay boys, tonight our Toby isn’t going to be doing his normal routine, we have a special song for him picked out by our new floor boss. Go to it Toby!”

He gritted his teeth but it wasn’t the first time they’d sprung a new song on him without warning. Personally he thought the DJ just liked watching him squirm as he tried to figure out how to best dance to the music. 

He moved out, a seductive grin plastered on his face as the words started.

_ They say our love is taboo _

_ That what we’re doing is wrong _

_ They tell us we should be ashamed _

_ We’re not husband and wife _

_ I cherish each moment with you _

_ I’m so glad you’re in my life… _

It was a crappy song to dance to but he was managing and if the catcalls were any indicator he was doing it well. He felt the speed picking up and grabbed the pole in preparation to rub against it when the second verse started.

_ “You’re my prison bitch _

_ My prison bitch _

_ You’re not like other men _

_ I’m glad we share a prison cell _

_ When lights go out at 10 _

_ I can’t escape the way I feel _

_ Now that would be a crime _

_ As long as I am doing you _

_ I don’t mind doing time!” _

Somewhere in the middle of the verse he had frozen in shock but snapped out of it when a voice shouted out from the crowd. 

“Oh yea! You could be my bitch!”

He bolted off the stage, not exactly sure what he was feeling but off stage he ran smack into a large body. It had to be the new floor boss and he looked up, ready to do something, but choked on his words when his eyes landed on those blue eyes, that bald head.. that familiar fucking smirk.

“Hello sweetpea, miss me?”


	2. Chapter 2

It took an embarrassing amount of time to comprehend Vern Schillinger standing in front of him and he stumbled back, hands going up in tight fists. Half aggressive, half defensive.

Vern only gave him that shit eating grin, “Didn’t like the song I picked out?”

“No you fucking…” He caught himself in the middle of the sentence as he realized what Vern had said, “You… you’re the new floor boss?”

“Oh, you know it sweet-”

“I quit.”

He ran. He grabbed his stuff out of his locker and bolted to the door. He was gonna be sick if he had to look at Vern and without any more consideration he was on his way back to Colin’s place. 

He was only halfway home when he stopped, finally the rational part of his brain kicking in. If he showed up at Colin’s he wouldn’t have a warm welcome. He would be told to go back because Ryan had told him to work there.

If he couldn’t have Colin’s place he’d have nowhere, the only way around it was if O’Reily told him it was alright and even though the Mick hated Schillinger he would tell Beecher to suck it up.

Funny choice of words he thought. He slowly turned, walking back to the club. He didn’t want to do this but he knew he didn’t really have a choice. Not if he wanted his fix tonight.

He edged back into the club, but was stopped by the bouncer. “Just saw you storm out. Word was you just up and quit.”

“Yea well it’s a mistake. I gotta talk to the boss.”

“New floor boss is in the office.”

“No. The boss.”

He grinned, “Come on, you’ve been here long enough to know that whoever is on the floor for the shift is boss. Go on.”

He moved to the door, and knocked, anger and hatred making bile rise up his throat.

“Come in.”

He went in and was torn briefly about whether or not to shut the door, the need for privacy warring with his fear of being alone with Vern.

“Beecher, back already?”

“Yes, I… I didn’t mean it when I said I quit.”

“Seemed pretty clear.”

“Schillinger you know-“

“It’s sir.”

He stared at him, “Fuck no. This isn’t Oz Schillinger, and I’m not a new fish.”

He laughed, calm and confident. “No, it’s not, but I’m still the boss here sweetpea, and you’ll call me sir. Like when I tell you I’ll let you come back but I’m cutting your stage time and having you do extra floor time you’re going to say ‘yes sir.’ Now let’s hear it.”

He gritted his teeth, but there was nothing he could do. Vern wasn’t stepping over any lines making Beecher call him sir. “I don’t really do floor work.”

“Oh yea, says it in your file here. Tobias Beecher- skittish off the stage. I wonder why that is?” He laughed, his eyes saying he knew exactly the damage he had done to Beecher, the trauma he had caused. “Too bad. You’re going to do it _and_ you’re gonna be a cuff boy.”

“No!” He didn’t even care that he gave away how much that pushed his buttons, he couldn’t be a cuff boy. “No.” It was more of a whimper than anything else.

He looked triumphant at the strength of the reaction, “Oh, you will or you’re fired, got it Bitcher?”

His eyes slipped down to the floor as he mumbled, “Yes, sir.” His head snapped up immediately, horrified that he had slipped back into the Oz mindset.

“Don’t just stand there staring at me, go get changed. You can start now.”

He glared for a moment before turning and heading towards the back to change. He barely worked the floor but they had never made him work with cuffs. It was one of the Cuffs & Collars biggest claims; get a lap dance by a boy with his hands cuffed behind his back.

He didn’t like lap dances, feeling a man hard against him made him sick with fear. The old boss had barely made him, as his stage performances were popular enough that he felt it wasn’t worth the stress on him.

He had to find a costume to wear from the back; he didn’t have his own cuffs costume. The other downside was the costume was made up of a thong and chaps, leaving his branded ass on view the entire time.

He got back to his locker, pushing down his irritation as Taylor stood there waiting, eyeing the costume curiously. He put his hand up, “I don’t want to hear it.”

There was a pause then, “Let me put some eyeliner on you. You’ll get more money.”

“Yea, okay.” It wasn’t the first time and he drew the line at eyeliner, no matter what Taylor tried to convince him to do. When he finished he watched Taylor look over his shoulder and paste a huge smile on his face.

He knew who was there even before he turned to look, catching Vern looking at an angle that could have only been focused on his ass. He frowned as the eyes trailed up his body, making him cross his arms over his bare chest. He hesitated on the Kohl lined eyes, the smirk sliding to something else that Beecher couldn’t identify.

But Taylor was already moving into Vern’s personal space, in full flirt mode. “You must be Mr. Schillinger, I’m Taylor.”  
The gaze reluctantly left Beecher to eye Taylor with a predatory gleam. Beecher had to shove down the urge to try to protect him, this wasn’t Oz. Schillinger eyed Taylor for a moment longer before nodding towards the door and adding dismissively, “Get to work.”

There was a small mean satisfaction in seeing the ever optimistic grin slide off Taylor’s face but he pushed that back as he moved forward placing a hand on Taylor’s shoulder. “Go on out, I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Okay Toby.” The grin was back and he practically pranced out, leaving Beecher alone with Vern and the realization that he wasn’t really in the position to protect anyone.

“Well don’t you look pretty.”

He snarled at Vern, baring his teeth like an animal, in a way he hadn’t since he was locked up, “Back off.”

Vern laughed, “Just bringing you your cuffs toBIas, don’t get your panties in a twist.”

He dangled the metal in front of his face and he reached out to take them only to have them snatched back, making Toby feel like he was back in high school. Schillinger had always been a fan of petty bullshit like that. “Nuh uh, say please.”

He didn’t, instead he lunged at Schillinger grabbing for the cuffs. He managed to catch Vern off guard and caught the edge of the cuffs but Vern acted quick, yanking the cuffs towards him. Beecher kept his grip on them, forcing him to be pulled flush against Vern, one steely arm instantly around his middle holding him there as Vern nearly growled at him, “Don’t push me _prag._ ”

Just as fast as it happened Beecher was released and stumbled a little, clumsy with the sudden shock at being that close to the Nazi Bastard, but a glance at Vern’s face showed a bit of surprise at his actions before he covered it up. Vern had seemed almost… shocked. Seemed that Beecher wasn’t the only one forgetting they weren’t back in Oz.

Vern was still holding the cuffs, dangling from one hand. They eyed each other for a few moments, both unsettled, before Vern silently offered them to Beecher, leaving without another word. Beecher stayed a moment longer, hooking the cuffs around one wrist and leaving them dangling. He would leave it to the first person to grab him to cuff his hands together. A throwback to his old Oz visage of why harm yourself when others are willing to do it for you.

He headed out, trying to think about why Vern ended up here of all places. He didn’t need to be thinking of that Nazi fuck while he was rubbing his ass against some guy. He was snatched up quick, the regulars knowing how rare it was that he was on the floor. Some big meaty guy, and he resisted shuddering as his mind automatically supplied that the guy wasn’t as big as Vern, pulled him into his lap so he was straddling his legs and snapped the cuffs on, cuffing his hands together in the front. That was something at least. He rested his hands against the guy’s chest for leverage and when the man slid his hands under him, cupping his ass he quickly disguised the shudder of disgust as one of desire, moaning softly.

It was an hour and a half later and Beecher wanted nothing more than to go home and lick his wounds. Every time he tried to get a break Schillinger’s frown sent him back to the floor. At least he was making some damn good money. He rolled his hips against the man below him once more and winked at him before standing up, the poor schmuck out of money.

His wrists were a little sore and he snagged down Taylor to undo one wrist so he could move his hands around and drop off the money tucked into his pants behind the counter. He was on his way to take a break, regardless of what Vern said when a customer in the back corner snagged him. He tried to pull away, flashing an apologetic smile, “Sorry, I’m on break.”

“Just a quick dance sweetheart.”

He put a little more force behind the words, “I’m on break.”

Faster than he could stop his hands were behind his back in the cuffs and a hand was over his mouth. He struggled but an arm around his waist held him tight against him, his back to the man’s chest.

“Shh, shh, shh.” The man’s legs moved to pin Beecher’s and the hand around his stomach let go to grope his ass. “Oh yea baby, move that body.”

Beecher was struggling to get away when he felt flesh against his ass. The man had taken himself out of his pants and was rubbing the head of his dick against the globes of his ass, smearing precum.

Fuck, he was in trouble. The floor boss should be stepping in and, realizing that would be Schillinger, he cringed. He was definitely in trouble. His thong was being pushed aside and the dick was pressing against his ass, threatening to enter. Beecher was moving too much, the man was obviously trying to fuck him but couldn’t quite with Beecher moving.

Shit, he needed to do something or this was gonna be very bad. As a last resort he bit down on the hand and when it pulled away from his mouth he didn’t hesitate, “Vern!”

The music was loud and diluted the yell but seconds later he felt himself hauled off the man. He looked up at Vern’s face, at the protective rage aimed at the man and for a blurry moment it overlapped with his memories of Vern doing the same in Oz and he leaned against him, shaking a little.

Almost as if in response to it Vern’s arm slid down his back, turning into an oddly intimate touch as Schillinger quickly fixed the thong, fingers pressing the bit of fabric back between his ass. When Vern’s fingers brushed over his entry he snapped back to reality, jerking away from Vern.

Vern was already grabbing the guy though, as the man tried to tuck himself away. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!”

“I was just touching-”

“You were trying to do a fuck more than that. You want to fuck some whore go find one in some alley and leave our fucking boys alone.” He shoved the man to a bouncer who gave him a questioning look. Schillinger seemed to think about it and then nodded and Beecher knew the man would get a beating before he was sent off.

Vern turned back to him and he tried to call on his anger but it wouldn’t come. He kept his eyes averted, “Can you take these off?” He turned and was kind of surprised when Vern took them off without any smart comments.

“You okay Beecher?”  
He straightened his spine as he glared at Vern, both feeling the similarity in the set up, volumes being said without any words. He could almost hear the words, _Just like old times sweetpea, me protecting your ass._

And Beecher thinking with a snarl,  _ Yea but this ain’t Oz so that doesn’t mean you get to fuck it. _

Only… Vern didn’t seem to be completely behind his gloat and he nodded towards the back, “Good to see you’re fine then sweetpea. Why don’t you call it a night and head home?”

Which shouldn’t surprise him because if it had happened to any other boy he had no doubt the floor boss would send him home, but he hadn’t thought Schillinger would care. He had thought that he would take their grudge and send him back to the floor with his almost raped, shaking and dried precum coated ass.

He must have stood there too long because he was being directed towards the back, Schillinger’s hand at the small of his back. He twisted, forcing Vern’s hand away and hissed, “You don’t get to touch me anymore,” and at the same time the implication with a sneer,  _ but you know all these other guys do. _

“You weren’t moving Beecher, I needed to get you off the floor.”

“Don’t touch me.”

There was a frighteningly familiar huff of annoyance from Vern, which in a past time would have meant Beecher was about to regret something, but without being able to actually do that Vern mumbled under his breath, “Contrary little slut,” and stomped towards his office leaving Beecher where he stood. 

With a sneer Beecher realized he had almost won that round, as much as either of them ever won with each other. He headed back to change and head home, already dreading Colin’s anger at him showing up early.


	3. Chapter 3

He was right of course, Colin going off the handle about lazy little bitches that couldn’t even work a full shift was what met him when he got home. Like Colin was out working a 9-5 job. He nervously held his ground, “I got sent home early by the boss.”

He had called Colin during a quick break and had told him about Schillinger being the new boss. He knew the other had heard enough about the man and he had been hoping that Colin would understand and tell him to come home. He hadn’t. He was pulled out of his thoughts by Colin talking, “By Schillinger? Fuck Beecher, just fell back into it with him?”  
He whipped his head up, giving Colin his best Oz eyefuck and was rewarded with an uneasy look but he quickly relented. “A customer got kind of rough so they sent me home for the night.”

The change was instantaneous, “Oh shit! You okay?”

That made him smile a bit as he nodded. Colin wasn’t as devious as Ryan and the worry he could see on Colin’s face he knew was real. The mick was looking at his face and he remembered he still wore the eyeliner and with his hair rumpled he knew it gave him a debauched ‘fuck me’ look.

Repressing a smirk he seemingly innocently licked his lips and watched as Colin’s eyes watched for a moment before looking away and shifting his legs, reaching down briefly to adjust himself. Another sexually repressed Mick. Of course, Colin was giving him those looks when there were available females and that was a little different than O’Reily being tempted.

But as it was Beecher hadn’t offered and Colin hadn’t taken. But it felt like… he had this annoying, but lingering feeling like he was back belonging to Vern and he didn’t like it. In Oz he had rebelled by running to O’Reily and downing tits and he could do the same thing now.

He leaned in close to Colin, closer than necessary. “So was I a good boy… can I get some tits now?”  
Colin laughed uneasily, “You’re not in prison, it’s a hit or heroin, not tits.”

Closer still, a hand on Colin’s leg to ‘balance’ himself. “Either way. Do I get some or not?”  
He could almost hear Colin thinking and he smiled a little, thinking, _that’s right, come on little Irish boy, you know you want it._

But Colin wasn’t playing like he was supposed to as he pushed Beecher away, “There is some pot in the kitchen.”

“What? Fuck that. I need a hit.” And he did, he could feel the edges of withdrawal as he tried to remember the last time he had gotten his drugs, but more importantly he needed to get Schillinger out of his mind.

“No Beecher.”

All thoughts of the spur of the moment seduction gone he sprung to his feet. “Why not?! I went to work. I did what I was supposed to do!” He yanked all the money out of his pockets, dropping it on the table. “There, it’s enough to buy a hit Colin.” He was shaking his head though, and Beecher was getting panicked. He whimpered out, “Please.”

“I talked to Ryan and told him about Schillinger and he said… well… no more heroin.”  
“Why?”

Colin shrugged, “He has his reasons I’m sure.” Though no one ever knew what they were until Ryan wanted them too.

He curled his lip at Colin, sharp teeth flashing as he grabbed the money he had dropped and stomped towards the door. 

“Beech, where are you going?”

He was pulling his shoes back on, “To go buy a fucking hit on the streets.”

“Come on, just smoke some pot and relax.”

“No.”

“Beech, I’m not asking.”

“You can’t tell me what to do Colin.”

“Listen… Ryan said-”

“And he can’t tell me what the fuck to do either!”

He got up and grabbed the door handle but a hand wrapped around his elbow pulling him away, “Beecher.”

Colin looked like he was ready for a fight, Beecher was sure Ryan had made it very clear whatever he wanted and if he had told Colin not to let Beecher have any heroin, he would do everything in his power to stop him. 

However, at the rough grip, Beecher ducked his head and dropped his hand. “Fine.” Colin’s eyes widened comically at the instant compliance. Since Beecher had left Oz he had been well… a bitch. Fighting Colin every step of the way over everything. Oh.. he would give in but not before Colin was ready to throttle him. He’d see that familiar limit of frustration and back down huffily before sulking.

None of that this time as he kicked off his shoes and slid to the couch, eyes trained on the floor. “Beecher?” Colin frowned at him. “Toby?”

“What, I’m not going, I’m staying here like a good dog.” There was some of the normal sulking and Colin sat next to him.

“Hey man, I’m sorry but hey, it’s probably for the best. I don’t use anymore and you don’t-”

“Do you go at night and shake your ass at big fat drunk idiots? Do you work for someone that raped and humiliated you?”  
“Well no-”

“Then you don’t realize I’m not better off clean.”

“Sure you are and Ryan said-”

“Fuck Ryan.”

There was a pause and Colin sat back, patting Beecher’s thigh. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Colin not to touch him but he just really didn’t mind and he was sure he had already pissed the other man off. “Yea, I know Toby. It won’t be so bad, I’ll help you through.”

The hand had stopped moving but still lay there. He hesitated before shoving the hand off, “Don’t touch me.”

“Well fuck, is that how you’re going to be? Fuck, Ryan was right, you can be a little fucking bitch.”

He bit his lip to keep from responding to that, “I’m gonna jump in the shower.”

“By all means.” The sarcastic comment stung a little as he got up and headed towards the bathroom. It didn’t help that he knew he was being a bitch about it; Colin had only been trying to help him get over his addiction.

He stripped off his clothes quickly, moving into the shower. His hands were a little shaky, he had been denied his hit the night before and now with no more coming he was going to hit withdrawal. The only time he wasn’t being watched by Colin was on his way to or from work but if he showed up at work or back home high he would be in for a beating.

He finished cleaning and wrapped a towel around his waist. Colin was still in the living room and Beecher took a deep breath and averted his eyes to the floor, “I’m sorry, I’m just all shaken up between no heroin and seeing Ver-er, Schillinger.” He choked on the name a bit, but held his ground.

He waited for Colin to answer but after several moments he still had no response. He wanted to go get dressed but some part of him that had been permanently and irreversibly changed by Vern wouldn’t allow him to leave without being dismissed by whoever was in charge. Just like when he was in a situation where he was wrong and could face a potential punishment he couldn’t bring himself to look up from the floor.

“Beecher just… just go get dressed, then come back out. I got a customer coming over so try to dress the part.”

He nodded meekly, not looking up, “Yes sir.”

He knew the annoyed sigh was because he had called Colin sir, which made him remember how much work Colin had put into getting him back to somewhere normal when he got out of Oz.

Ryan may have told Colin to take him in but it was Colin that convinced him he didn’t have to scrunch up in the back of the closet with the door shut, closing him in, to feel safe. Or that he didn’t have to cringe every time someone touched him or even that he didn’t need to do what he was currently doing. Hunching in upon himself, lowering his eyes, giving every outward sign of submission, just like he had been forced to do. Old habits die hard.

He quickly dressed and headed back out. He tried to raise his eyes to meet Colin’s, he knew that’s what Colin wanted, but he couldn’t quite do it so with a sigh he looked at Colin’s feet. “You haven’t done this in awhile Beecher.”

“Sorry.” At least he had taken off the sir.

“I know I called you a bitch, but I don’t think that brought it on. I’ve called you a bitch lots of times.”

He looked up, catching Colin’s eyes for the briefest moment before looking down again. “It’s cause of Schillinger.”

“You’re taking this harder than I thought Toby. All right, tomorrow night I’ll go with you to work, hang out a little. Make sure he knows you have someone watching your back.”

Just like Vern had when he went into prison, act like a friend and show everyone else that they gotta back off cause the new bitch is yours. “Yes, thanks Colin.” And that was really what he was doing. Telling Vern,  _ I’m not scared cause I got a new owner. _

It wouldn’t matter that it wasn’t Oz and that Colin wasn’t fucking him, that’s how Vern would see it. But the important part would still be that Colin’s appearance would be a great big ‘hands off’ sign over Beecher.

Beecher took the initiative and moved forward cautiously, eyes still down until he stood in front of Colin. After a deep breath he looked up to meet Colin’s eyes, holding them. And suddenly Colin’s arms were around him and there were lips pressing against his, a tongue pressing insistently into his mouth. And hey, maybe it was just like prison because Colin was pressing at him insistently, pressing him down on the couch.

He was already on his back with his legs spread wide before it even occurred to him that he didn’t know if he wanted it or not. He closed his eyes, not that it mattered, he had learned that much at least. Colin was biting and sucking on the side of his neck when there was a pounding on the door.

The sound seemed to jerk Colin out of whatever space he was in because he scrambled off Beecher, a horrified look on his face. Before he could say anything there was another insistent pounding on the door, “Be right there!” He turned to Beecher, “Oh fuck, Beecher… fuck! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… you should of fucking socked me one.”

He eyed him passively, realizing Colin was apologizing for jumping him and feeling a little ashamed that he hadn’t put up any fight, especially considering it seemed Colin would have stopped. The increasingly forceful knock stopped whatever Colin was going to add as he turned to get it. Beecher sat up and moved to the corner of the couch, pulling his knees under him.

He recognized it immediately as a regular customer, barely curling his lip when the man sneered at him. It did catch his attention when Colin pulled out the heroin though. His feet hit the ground and he shifted forward, watching intently. “Colin…”

He barely spared him a glance, knowing instinctively what was wrong. “Hey Jason, want a beer?” Jason nodded and Colin nodded towards Beecher, “Tobe, why don’t you go grab us a couple beers.”

He didn’t complain as he moved to the kitchen, coming back with 3 bottles. Colin didn’t miss the crappy beer that himself and Jason got while Beecher settled back onto the couch with the expensive import stuff. Despite his unease Beecher couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow mockingly at Colin, making sure he didn’t think it was accidental.

“Hey there baby, aren’t you normally at work about now?”

Beecher rolled his eyes as Jason laughed, he cocked his head to the side and mouthed, ‘ _ Fuck you’ _ .

“Gladly.”

“Knock it off, are we dealing or what?”

“Yea, calm down. I’m just having a bit of fun.” He waved the bag of heroin Colin had just handed him, “We can make up over a hit.”

“No, he’s going clean.”

He shrugged and winked at Beecher. “Maybe next time.”

Beecher had moved forward, nodding at the offer but snapped back when Colin reminded him that he couldn’t. He sat back, sulking. Colin ignored him, “Jason, speaking of Cuffs, you hear anything about the new manager they hired there?”

“Uh, some big skinhead or something, right? Not too much, he’s friends with the owner and the guy took pity on him and gave him a job. With the guys record the best he was getting was serving fries somewhere. And it’s not like he was gonna be turning tricks like this baby doll over here.”

“Hey, he doesn’t ‘turn tricks’, he strips. Get it right Jay, he’s not some whore, alright?”

The sheer heat of Colin’s words shocked Beecher, who had been about to protest himself. He knew he wasn’t a whore in the sense that he didn’t fuck for money but he did make money showing his body and getting guys hard so most of the time he didn’t bother to make the distinction. But Jay gave him a half smirk, “That isn’t what I hear.”

Colin was on his feet, “Apologize to him!”

“Fuck no, I’m not going to apologize to some whore.”

Beecher blamed this on O’Reily. He was rather sure Ryan had told Colin to treat Beecher like a chick, that’s the only reason he could come up with as to why Colin was apparently trying to defend his honor. 

Both the other men were standing so with things only escalating he launched to his feet between them. “Colin, let it go. I’ve been called much worse,” he looked away, his hands slipping behind his back, a gesture that he still hadn’t been able to shake no matter what Colin said, “I’ve  _ been  _ a lot worse, let it go.”

There was an awkward silence as they caught up with what Beecher was saying. After Beecher was sure they weren’t going to come to blows he eased his way out from between them, sitting next to Colin on the couch instead of back in the arm chair. He kept his eyes down, his hands between his knees.

Colin patted his knee, “Right, let’s just… uh… get back to business.”

“Hey, I didn’t mean to start shit. You want me to dig up some background on this… uh… what’s his name?”

“Nah, don’t worry. Just wondering if you’ve heard anything about him, since he’s the one watching Beecher’s back at work now.”

Tempers cooled as they talked, Beecher fetching beers for them without being asked or told to. He didn’t say a word, not even after Jay had left. “Beecher?” When his shoulders slumped Colin tried again, “Toby?”

“I’m sorry Colin, I should have kept my mouth shut.”

“Aw fuck, I’m going out. This is about all the shit I can handle for tonight. You want to go with me?” He shook his head, “Fine, suit yourself.”

He watched Colin get ready and then grab his chin to make him look up, “I heard about the shit that went down with you and this Schillinger fuck, but you need to get over it.” He let go but kept eye contact, “I don’t know what you gotta do to make things better but I sure as fuck don’t want to deal with you here sulking around every night.” He waited to get a nod of understanding from Beecher before heading towards the door.

He was almost there when Beecher spoke up, “Colin, can I… just one more hit, a little one?”

“Ryan said-“

“I won’t tell. Please, one last hit or… or as soon as you leave I’ll go get one on the street.”

Colin paused and then walked towards the kitchen. He came back and tossed something to Beecher, laughing as Beecher frowned, realizing how little he was given. “That is all you get, and if I hear you’ve been out buying any from anyone I’ll make sure that you won’t be able to be getting  _ anything  _ from anyone for a long time.”

Colin’s voice brooked no argument and he knew the threat wasn’t an idle one. “But I can go somewhere tonight, right? Just no drugs?”

“What are you up to? I asked if you wanted to go out.”

He stood up abruptly, “Maybe I just want to do something by myself, on my own. Is that alright?” He was angry, though aware that his moods had flipped drastically, “And here I thought I got paroled.”

“Just be safe. You got my cell if you run into trouble.”  
“Yea, thanks.”

After Colin was gone Beecher took a deep breath and stood up to pull his shoes on. Colin was right; if he didn’t work something out he wouldn’t be able to face Schillinger everyday. He had to talk to him and was immensely annoyed when his stomach tightened in fear at facing Vern. He made sure he was dressed in clothes that didn’t look like he was inviting trouble. He made sure he had the cell phone Colin had given him and quickly snorted the heroin. He would need the extra courage the drug gave him and started towards the Cuffs for the second time that night.

He ignored the bouncer at the door and scanned the floor for Vern. He couldn’t stop the jerk of surprise when Vern appeared next to him. He looked up at him, and stepped back at the anger on Vern’s face. “I sent you home.”

“I know but I-”

“So go home Beecher.”

He set his jaw and crossed his arms defensively over his chest, “I need to talk to you.”

He eyed him with an uncomfortably intense stare before nodding. “Hold on a second.” He went to inform the bouncer to watch the floor and headed to his office, Beecher following cautiously. Vern opened the door and waited for Beecher to head in before following him and shutting the door.

That made Beecher jump and spin to face the bigger man, “Why, why is the door shut?”

“You sounded like you wanted privacy.” Vern had an oddly patient look on his face, “Do you want it open?”  
“No…no. As long as you keep your distance.”

“What exactly do you think I’m gonna do?” An incredulous expression from Beecher made him huff, annoyed. “Give me a break, like fucking your ass again is worth losing my job. You aren’t  _ that  _ good a lay.”

“You fucking bastard.” He was up and halfway to the door when his elbow was grabbed and he was yanked around.

“Hey, you’re the one that wanted to talk….” Vern appeared to be eyeing him closer now that they weren’t in the dim light of the club, “Fuck, are you high?”

He laughed but it was high pitched and nervous, “Some things never do change, huh?”

“Sit down Beecher.” He did and Vern sighed, “Some things  _ do  _ change. You still do drugs?”

“Well, yes and no. This is the last hit I’m  _ allowed _ .” Despite his best effort there was resentment in the word. He looked at Vern, “What? That wasn’t in my file right next to that comment about being skittish?”

“Why are you here Beecher?”

“Cause I wanted to talk to you.”

“No, why do you work here? You obviously don’t enjoy it.”

He shrugged, “I make good money and O’Reily told me too.”

“You got paroled at 4 years.”

“Yea, I only had two marks on my record.” He glanced up with a small smirk on his face as he remembered the shock on Vern’s face when the chair had come through the glass, “And you got out sooner.”

And he had, he had been dumped in solitaire for Beecher’s safety. Since he had been there he had actually managed to get his parole before the Riot. Shame he had missed that. Beecher glanced up at Vern, confused by the look on his face, the drugs keeping him from understanding. 

“Yea well, me getting paroled probably saved us both, if I’d stayed I would have done something to make up for that fucking chair.” He noted Beecher’s sudden tension, “But it’s been… fuck… 3 and a half years since I last saw you.”

“What? And you’re not going to now? I know the rules, the way things work and people always get revenge.”

Vern sighed, “You’ve only been out of Oz for a couple months, you’re still thinking like you’re there. I’ve had a lot of time out to think about it and-”

He was interrupted by an intercom, “Uh, sir, there is a guy out here saying he’s with Beecher and demanding to see him.”

Vern gave Beecher a look before pressing the button, “Let him come in.”

He stood up, as did Beecher, when the door swung open. Colin’s eyes landed on Beecher, instantly looking for injuries. Schillinger cleared his voice, “Can I help you?”

He ignored him, looking to Beecher, “What the fuck are you doing here? I was going to come with you tomorrow and you just fucking wander off?”

“You told me I could leave.” 

“I know what I said, just as you know I didn’t think you were going to come here!”

The yelling made Beecher hunch his shoulders and his hands slip behind his back, something that Schillinger, with a sick sense of pride, recognized as his training. “Can I help you? Because if not, get the fuck out of my office.”

“Yea you can, I want to make sure you know not to fuck with Beecher.”

Beecher looked up and from his vantage point Vern could see Beecher’s hand grip his wrist harder, “I was doing that for myself Colin.”

“That’s real good Beech, but who the fuck is going to take you seriously about that? No offense but,” he waved his hand in Beecher’s general direction. “Now come on, I just was making sure you were safe.”

He didn’t look at Vern as he nodded, “Yes Colin.” He headed out without hesitation; he knew that tone from Colin and wasn’t going to go against it.

He was almost to the door when Vern spoke up, “Toby.” He paused, conflicted between orders, but stopped fully and turned to Vern.

“I’ll expect you in tomorrow and preferably without the… muscle. Not good for business.”

“Yes sir.” That seemed to be the final straw for Colin who grabbed Beecher’s arm and dragged him out. Vern caught his eyes for a moment before he was gone, and again Beecher saw something he couldn’t quite identify on the bigger man’s face. He dismissed it knowing he could deal with it tomorrow, right now he had Colin to deal with.


	4. Chapter 4

The walk was completed in silence, though Colin never loosened his grip on Beecher’s elbow, dragging him along at a fast clip. It reminded him of the time his dad had found him at a bar with a fake ID his senior year of high school and dragged him out. He glanced at Colin, thinking, ‘ _ gee dad, I promise I won’t ever do it again _ ’. Though he didn’t really think getting dragged out of a strip club that he worked in, and away from his former owner, was quite the same situation.

In the apartment Colin only let go of Beecher when he had sat him down on the couch. “You should have told me you were going to see that fuck.”

“You said I could go out.”

“You know what I meant.”

He curled his lip a little, “Well maybe next time you should be more specific.”

He knew Colin was mad and he was pushing him but he didn’t expect the slap. His head snapped to the side and he could taste blood. “You don’t mouth off to me bitch, understand?”

He gingerly lifted his hand to his mouth, pressing at the ache. “I’m sorry.” Despite all the threatening Colin had never actually hit him before. Mostly because it wasn’t really necessary, given a warning of actually being hit he would back down. 

“Maybe I’ve let too much go and being nice doesn’t work with you, does it? Because you haven’t seen that Nazi fuck for years but jump at his commands.” Looking up at that Beecher was rewarded with a backhand high on his cheek.

“I expect you to start listening you little bitch, even if I have to beat that response into you. You understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Fine, get some sleep. We’re getting up early and going to see Ryan.”

After dropping that bombshell he left Beecher and stalked into his room, slamming the door. Beecher didn’t even have the energy to get up and check out what damage Colin had done, he just toed off his shoes and curled up on the couch. After a few minutes with a sigh he pulled off his shirt and pants, leaving him in boxers. It was how he always slept but he felt annoyingly vulnerable for some reason.

_ Beecher was on his knees with his cheek resting on Vern’s thigh. It was actually a good situation because there was a lot worse Vern could be doing to him. The normal hate he felt for Schillinger seemed to be missing and he could feel a hand softly stroking his hair. _

Beecher woke up with a start, shoving back the remainder of his dream to the back of his mind and refusing to acknowledge that they had featured him on his knees in front of Schillinger. It wouldn’t be the first time, though it was the first time in awhile.

Glancing around he realized he could hear the shower running so he rolled off the couch and headed towards the kitchen, hopefully if he could get breakfast for Colin it would cool his temper from the night before. His jaw ached a little and there was a slight throb just below his eye but he ignored it as he pulled out the pans. 

By the time Colin got out the bacon was done and he was just finishing the eggs. He kept his eyes down as he piled the food on a plate, aware of the new rules. He put the plate on the table along with a drink. Colin sat down in front of the plate, “Hey, thanks Beech.”

He ignored the comment, “Is there anything else I can get you?”

‘ “No, this is good. Aren’t you going to eat?”

He shook his head; he felt a little nauseous truth be told, “No sir. I’m going to go shower, is that all right?” He didn’t actually wait for an answer, slipping out of the room as Colin started to say something.

He slipped into the bathroom and finally looked in the mirror. It was pretty much what he had expected. The corner of his mouth was a little torn with a bruise around it. His cheek was a little worse. His cheekbone had swelled up with the harder backhand hit and he had a black eye. That’s what he had been worried about; it was going to be hard to cover up.

He hadn’t been hit in the face much, in Oz that was too much proof to a passing by Hack if there were bruises. He wished that Colin could have decided to start following through on his threats after they saw Ryan. He didn’t want Ryan to see him looking like he had gotten smacked around. You always wanted to look your strongest around that Mick.

After his shower he slipped into Colin’s room where his clothes were and opened the bottom drawer. He pulled out the clothes there, rubbing his fingers over the cloth. He always wore the same clothes when he went to visit Ryan. His shirt, pants and sweatshirt from Oz. Ryan had given him the sweatshirt, sick of watching him freeze his ass off in just his t-shirt. Most of the prison clothes had been thrown out, with the exception of the one set he couldn’t let go.

Both Colin and Ryan had tried to persuade him to get rid of them now that he was out but he stubbornly held on, the one time he had entered Oz wearing normal clothes he had a panic attack. Even he wasn’t sure why. He did know, though he would never admit it, that he felt safer, felt secure back in his prison clothes when he was inside Oz. He heard the disappointed sigh from Colin when he came out, probably because of the clothes, but he didn’t say anything as they headed towards the car. It seemed Colin was going to pretend the previous night hadn’t happened, not acknowledging the bruises. It was going to be a long drive.

Lopresti was at the desk and he gave Beecher an actual smile, “Seeing O’Reily?”

Beecher nodded, smiling back as his mind supplied a snarl and the ever familiar word hack. “Yes, sir.”

Lopresti nodded at him, “Hope the other guy looks as bad.”

Shrugging he looked away, “Door.”

They signed in and went to wait for Ryan, Beecher nervously pacing. They always had contact visits and Beecher impatiently watched the window for Ryan’s arrival. He had never been able to get over his hero worship of Ryan. The way he had taken care of him when Vern’s tender love and care got too bad and then after Schillinger was gone.

Beecher had stood by Ryan during the riot and Ryan had kept him close by his side from that point on, that combined with his… assault on an inmate trying to prag him in gen pop after the riot had been enough to keep him safe. Ryan had asked very little of him and in return had kept him safe and kept him high.

He was nearly bouncing on the balls of his feet when Ryan finally came through the door. He held back though, knowing his place, waiting for Ryan to meet Colin first. As soon as he turned Beecher flung himself at Ryan. The Mick laughed, pulling Beecher into a crushing hug. “Hey man, how you doing Beech?”

“Good. You seem good, need anything?”

He released Beecher as they both sat down, “Always service oriented, aren’t ya?” He seemed to notice the bruises for the first time, “Damn, Schillinger do that?”

He ducked his head, “No.” He couldn’t see him with his eyes trained on the table but he could tell Colin was squirming.

“Who then?” He didn’t say anything but looked up and glanced at Colin before back at the table. “Oh.” He quickly pushed on, “So Schillinger is really the new floor boss, huh?”

“Yes Ryan.” He looked up, pleading, “Can’t I please quit?”

“Where else you going to work? Besides, it was years ago, you should get over it.”

He didn’t bother to tell Ryan how impossible that was, the Mick knew. Instead he looked up to meet Ryan’s eyes, letting them say what words couldn’t and was rewarded with a guilty look crossing Ryan’s face.

“Sorry Beech. But he’s not trying anything, right?”

“No…. I don’t think he will.”

“Well there you go. You’re fine working there and if he starts over stepping himself then we’ll take it from there.”

He hesitated glancing around to make sure no guards were near by and leaned in close, “Why did you cut me off?”

“It’s for your own good Toby. Besides, your old floor boss got on you about drugs and it’s a safe bet Schillinger is going to be even less forgiving.”

“I need it Ryan and that’s a crappy-”

He didn’t finish his sentence as Ryan’s hand whipped out and grabbed the collar of his shirt roughly, “Because I said so Beecher, that’s good enough. Understand?”

“Yes.” Ryan kept his eyes on Beecher as he looked away until he seemed satisfied and let go, turning to Colin. 

“So what other news is there?”

Beecher didn’t listen as he glanced around, though Ryan reached out a hand to pat his knee, letting Beecher know things were okay. He wasn’t surprised when the hand stayed there. There were a few others in the room and he recognized a few, only taking the effort to sneer at an Aryan. When the Aryan returned the eyefuck Beecher bared his teeth making the Aryan wince and turn back to his visitor, leaving Beecher to triumphantly look back to Ryan.

Ryan gave him a wink, acknowledging the victory and he couldn’t help but smile. He had spent 3 years of his life with his only goal to please Ryan. After they talked business Ryan nodded his head towards the door and Colin grudgingly got up to go, leaving Beecher alone with Ryan.

Ryan turned his chair to face Beecher fully, reaching out with one hand to trace the bruises, “Are you all right?”

“Yea, I’ve had worse.” He hedged around telling Ryan about his growing concern for Colin’s behavior. How it had reeked of a certain possessiveness you didn’t find out of prison. But he didn’t. “Schillinger has me on edge so maybe I’ve been a little bitchy. I probably deserved it.”

Ryan chuckled, “I know you didn’t. You wouldn’t ever push enough for it to come to that.” Ryan’s hands moved subtly, sliding along Beecher’s thighs, “But are you okay?”

Sometimes he almost wanted to violate his parole and end up back in Oz. He met Ryan’s eyes, “Yea, Colin is usually okay but I… I miss you.” He was sure Ryan missed him too. Ryan was adamant about not being gay but the way things had worked out he had bended that rule when it came to Beecher. It had allowed Ryan what he wanted without compromising his stance and he was sure Ryan wouldn’t be able to find that again.

Maybe Ryan saw something in his eyes because he turned serious suddenly, “You got out Beecher, and you’re going to be just fine, got it?”

“Yes Ryan.”

There was a buzz and they both looked up instinctively, knowing it meant visiting time was over. “Keep me updated Toby, if Schillinger is causing a problem we’ll work something out.” He touched his face once more, though it was more about caressing him than checking on the bruises. Toby tilted his head into it before Ryan pulled him into a final hug.

Colin had come back in to say goodbye and after Ryan let go of Beecher he grabbed Colin’s shoulder hard and harshly whispered something to him that had Colin looking guilty. He let him go and with a last glance all that was left was the ride home.

And it was a long one as Beecher fidgeted, glancing at Colin. He hoped nothing had pissed off the other man, well aware that the last whisper had been warning Colin off of being rough with him. “Colin?”

“What?” Yes, the other man was angry, probably because Beecher got him scolded.

He edged closer, had to soothe these ruffled feathers. Colin was used to being the top dog but the visit to Ryan reminded him he was a beta. The best way to do that would be to play helpless. “Colin, you’re going to come to the club tonight, right?”

“What?” He glanced at Beecher and back towards the road, “No. Why?”  
“You said you were going to show Schillinger that I belong to you, remember?”  
That phrasing seemed to mollify Colin a bit, relaxing a little as he answered, “Schillinger said not to.”

Beecher gave him a crooked smile. “And since when have you listened to over muscled jack asses?”

There was a hesitation and then a big grin thrown his way, “Yea, don’t worry Tobe, I’ll be there keeping that fuck in line.”

Assured that Colin was placated Beecher turned to look out the window, contemplating his options. Schillinger wasn’t going to be happy but he only worked for that Aryan fuck, he had to live with Colin. He wrapped the hem of his shirt around his fingers, feeling almost… nostalgic as he simultaneously reveled in seeing Ryan and dreaded going back to Schillinger. 

Looking down he realized his hands were shaking, probably from the lack of drugs. At least it was his last night and he’d have a few off. He knew from time in the hole how much it was going to suck when the withdrawal hit him hard.

“Colin, do we have some kind of aspirin home?”

“Why?”

“I’m going to need something, I’m already getting shaky.”

“You going to be able to work tonight?”

“Yea, I need the money, getting sent home early cut into the profits.”

“We’ll find something, don’t worry.” There was a pause, “You going to be well enough to deal with Tommy tonight?”

Beecher waved his hand dismissively, “Yea. Tommy is easy to please.”

To pass the time Beecher started to go over laws in his head. Something he had started doing in Oz. Try and recall all the aspects and implications of a specific law. Then decide how it would apply to a person, when he was especially bored he would create a fake situation and decide how he would try it. Ironically he was probably more on his game now than when he had actually been practicing law.

“We’re going to have to go to the club early, I need to give Taylor time to cover up these.” He hesitantly motioned at his face. He could see Colin uneasily glance at him in his peripheral vision but the other man didn’t say anything. He really hadn’t expected him too.

They didn’t get there early enough and he couldn’t catch Taylor before the other went on stage. He had glanced at the schedule, surprised that despite what Schillinger had said he only was working his normal dance routines.

Glancing out he could see Colin in the back, generally eyeing the place and looking mean. He grinned a little at that and ducked back behind the curtain and searched around for Schillinger. He had to get the bruises covered up before he saw them. He wasn’t sure why it was so important, dancers showed up with bruises all the time, part of the business. Something about them being visible to that fuck sent off alarms in his stomach. A gut response to it.

Schillinger was safely on the other side of the club, keeping an eye on the floor. He headed to the back to wait for Taylor, standing close to the mirror so he could look at the bruises. They looked awful. The song was ending and right on cue Taylor came prancing into the back room.

“Toby. I was so worried about you after last night!”

He turned to face him and winced when Taylor gasped, “It’s that bad, is it?”

“What happened to you?”

He shrugged, “You know, just a little trouble at home. Can you cover it up?”

“Well yea, but the boss said it was okay for you to go on like that?”

As long as they were covered up no one would mind. He frowned, “No, I didn’t tell him.”

“But you gotta tell the floor boss, those are the rules!” 

“Just do it Taylor.”

“I know there is something between you and this new guy… old lover?” Taylor’s voice had a playful lilt to it; unaware of the dangerous ground he was on.

‘No!” Too high pitched, too forced and now Taylor was looking at him anxiously. He sighed, “Just please cover it up.”

“Cover what up?”

He jumped and hissed under his breath, that Nazi fuck was always everywhere. “Just an accident, Taylor was about to fix it.”

Rough fingers were on his chin, tilting it up, before he could even think to remind Schillinger that he wasn’t supposed to touch him. He met his eyes defiantly, holding still as Vern looked him over until he realized what he was doing and jerked away.

Vern gave him a halfhearted sneer, “What the fuck happened to you?”

Beecher had a good excuse all ready to tell him but Taylor jumped in before he could say anything. “He said it was trouble at home, I’m guessing it’s Colin, given the way-”

It looked as if Vern would explode if he didn’t interrupt Taylor, an unreadable look on his face, “Given the way he has been watching over Beecher like a dog with a bone?”

“Yea.”

Beecher didn’t move his gaze from Vern, just daring him to make some kind of comment. He was wary of the look Vern was giving him. It was a cross between a frown and a thoughtful expression. It didn’t bother him until a look that was almost worried crossed the fuck’s face and he snapped out, “It’s no worse than what  _ you  _ did to me, not by a long shot!”

With that he stomped off to the stage, not noticing as Taylor yelled for him to come back and upon being ignored grabbed some stuff and followed him. Taylor caught up to him as he paced back and forth angrily. “Toby, you gotta hold still so I can cover those.”

He snorted, “Like they are looking at my face any way.” But he did stop, holding still as Taylor examined his face.

“So what did that mean?”

“What?”

“What you said to the boss.”

Sighing he resisted the urge to fidget, “Nothing.”

Taylor eyed him, “Seemed like something.”

“Let it go Taylor.”

There was a longer pause, “Toby, I know that tattoo on you was from prison. Is Schillinger the guy that-”

“No. Let it go.”  
He finished covering the bruises and looked down for a second. “The first night he was here, when they played that weird prison bitch song he picked out-”

Beecher slapped a hand over Taylor’s mouth, forcibly silencing him. “It’s the past Taylor, and I’m asking you to please let it go.”

He nodded once and when Beecher moved his hand Taylor didn’t say anything. “Good, now I look presentable, yes?”

He looked him up and down and grinned, “Perfect.”

He half expected Vern to appear but there was no sign of him and his song was called out on time. It was his first uninterrupted dance in a few days and he threw himself into it, giving the movements an extra energy that had the crowd going wild. 

He wasn’t sure why he was doing it, but he caught Colin’s eyes briefly, licking his lips. He watched him shift in his seat, adjusting his pants and slid his eyes to someone else; looking for that tall shaved head. He finally found it, inexplicably annoyed when he realized Schillinger wasn’t watching him. He watched him until the routine forced him to look away, but the Nazi didn’t even glance in his direction.

His song ended and he collected his money, throwing a wink and blowing a kiss to the crowd as he exited. He was annoyed at Schillinger for some reason, but he had seen Tommy enter in the back of the club and that meant it was time to go to work. He hustled out, ignoring people that called to him as he met Tommy pulling up a seat near Colin. He didn’t hesitate as he straddled the big man and kissed him playfully. He pulled back, “How is my favorite officer of the law?”

Tommy blushed a little and pushed Beecher off his lap, “Not out in the open like that Toby.”

He pouted at him and pulled up a chair, “Better?”

“How you doing Toby, being good?”

He grinned at him, “Always.”

“Well that was almost believable.”

Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Vern glancing in their direction and that made him uneasy. He reached out to touch Tommy’s leg, “You coming into the back with me?”

He reached down to grasp Toby’s hand, “Yea sure.” Toby gave him his most guileless smile and started heading towards the back room. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Vern heading his way and pushed Tommy on ahead of him, telling him he just had to let his boss know he was taking a break. 

He turned to face Vern just as the other man reached him, “What are you doing?”

“None of your business, I’m on break.” Vern looked past him and Beecher shifted to block the view of Tommy, crossing his arms and meeting Vern’s glare.

“And you’re going to fuck some guy.” Vern seemed to be assessing the situation, “Is he a trick?”

He wanted to be indignant but that wasn’t that far off. He looked away, “No, he’s just… he’s my parole officer. I do what I gotta so I don’t have to go back to Oz.”

“He fucks you.”

“It’s none of your business.”

“ _ Beecher.”  _ No amount of time away from Vern could make Beecher fear that tone any less and he sighed.

“No, he doesn’t fuck me. All right?”

“Then what are you doing? And don’t tell me none of my business because it’s happening while I’m on duty.”

He coughed a little, embarrassed. “I bring him into the back room and suck him off, all right? Happy now?”

There was no missing the frustration in Beecher’s voice, he didn’t like what he did but the alternative being Oz it really wasn’t that bad. “You don’t have to do this.” And it was a little close to home because there might have been other options but there was a certain familiarity in it.

“I gotta go.” He turned his back on him, pasting a smile on his face as he met up with Tommy, “Sorry, new boss.”

“That’s no problem. How you been doing?”

He glanced at him quickly as he knelt down in from of Tommy. “Good,” he hesitated, “Clean.”

A hand caught his chin and tilted his head up, “You stopped using?”

“Yea.”

Tommy smiled, “That’s a good thing Toby.”

He nodded and got to work, something he was used to. Tommy was easy to please, and was always nice about it. He slid one hand up Tommy’s thigh to balance himself, Taylor must have done a good job if Tommy hadn’t ever noticed the bruises.

He heard steps behind him but assumed it was a dancer and someone sucking a person off in the back room was nothing new. He ignored it, continuing his work. It was quick, it always was. Tommy was a closet case that would lose his job… and his wife if it was found out that he liked getting blowjobs from guys. He quietly tucked Tommy back into his pants, zipping them up. Rocking back on his heels he looked up, but the other man was looking behind him with a glare.

He turned his head, already knowing who was there but still cringed when his eyes landed on Schillinger. Tommy launched to his feet, the two men glaring over Toby who was still on his knees between them.

“What are you smirking at?” The appealing shy side was gone. Beecher had learned that Tommy had a hard side; he just never got it since he was always well behaved.

“Nothing  _ Officer _ , just, I taught him that you know. Of course, I took advantage of him in prison, what’s your excuse?”

He knew he should step in before something bad happened but he was in shock at the easy admittance of taking advantage of him, and that it actually seemed like Schillinger was standing up for him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I have friends in the force you know,  _ brothers _ . I wonder what they would think of this.” He leaned against the wall, completely self assured as he pointedly looked at the wedding ring, “Or what your wife would think of it?”

“Are you trying to blackmail me?”

“Of course not, I respect the law officer… I’m just saying. If he’s clean now, he’s well behaved, why not just back off, yea?”

There was silence for a few moments before Tommy reached down to gently touch Beecher’s hair, “Yea, whatever. See you around Toby.”

He left huffily, leaving Schillinger and Beecher alone. He kept his head down, his hair falling a little in his face, “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“You shouldn’t be doing this. Besides, not having that security will keep you clean.”

Tilting his head up he warily eyed Vern, making no move to get off his knees, even though he was aware of the posturing, “You don’t get to dictate my life.”

“I didn’t damnit! I was trying to help you, ya little fucking ingrate.”

“Why?”

He eyed him for a minute, “You need the help.”

By the time Beecher looked up it was to Schillinger’s retreating back, and he rocked to his feet with a sigh. He was almost tempted to be grateful, as it seemed he really may have scared Tommy off and that was one less thing to worry about, but Schillinger’s motivation was the big question mark. He was rather certain it was some Alpha male thing, someone encroaching on his territory.

He tried not to dwell on it, as he remembered he should go brush his teeth, Schillinger hadn’t always let him and sometimes he forgot to now. He was tempted to start thinking that maybe he could help him out with Colin, it was like Schillinger just stepped in and went to the rescue.

And with a jolt the similarity in the situation came to mind. Vern as the knight in shining armor. And he was falling it for a second time.

He slumped into a chair, not quite believing that he had almost fallen for the same scam again. Had almost… well, not  _ trusted  _ the bastard but had almost believed… he wasn’t sure what. He covered his face with his hands and sighed into them, willing his thoughts away.

He would think about this later, for now he had to get back in the mindset of dancing. He was still on the clock, so to speak, he could kick himself later for being so naïve.

The rest of the night went quickly, which was a change, especially when he wasn’t high. He tried to ignore Vern, and was furious when the other man made it impossible to do by not even glancing once in his direction. He lost interest in his work towards the end and knew that his last dance was less than spectacular. In fact, it may have been the only time that he didn’t bring in a bunch of tips. Part of him wondered if he was looking for a reason to have Schillinger talk to him. 

As he suspected Vern was waiting for him when he came off, though he looked mostly disinterested. He put his hand out to stop Beecher from going to the dressing room, and Beecher bared his teeth at him, “Out of my way.” That made a smile tug at Vern’s mouth and Beecher frowned, embarrassed, “Get out of my way Schillinger.”

“Still a little spitfire, aren’t you?”

He crossed his arms self consciously, “My shift is over, get the fuck out of my way and let me go home.”

“With Colin?”

“With whoever the fuck I want. None of your business.”

Vern grabbed his arm hard enough to hurt, and Beecher refused to acknowledge it. “What is your problem?”

“What do you think my problem is? It’s you Vern, it’s  _ always  _ you.”

“Listen, I tried to give you a hand-”

“Just like you did when you  _ saved  _ me from Adebisi?”

Vern shoved him away in disgust, “You are still just a whiny child. I thought I beat that out of you.”

“I’m a grown adult, and I have every reason in the world to hate you.”

“Christ, just let it go. I helped you earlier, the least you could do is say thank you.”

“Thank you? Thank you!? Are you serious?” Beecher felt like he was losing it, “You have got to be kidding me. You are the dumbest fucker I ever met you stupid fucking nazi bastard!”

He threw his hands up in the air, “That’s it, I tried, but I’m done. You do whatever the fuck you want Beecher, shake your ass, turn tricks, snort up enough drugs to fry that little lawyer brain you’ve got in there. I just don’t give a fuck Beecher!” He turned and stomped out of the back, leaving Beecher confused, yet again.

Somehow he had come out of that feeling like he did something wrong. But that was exactly what Vern wanted him to think, he wanted him feel like he owed him something. He had to remind himself that was how Vern worked. Despite that he still felt crappy as he got changed and headed out, and really he wasn’t looking forward to seeing Colin. He knew he had been doing a damn good job of trying to get Colin interested, and …. And he didn’t know why. He didn’t want to fuck Colin, he was a poor man’s version of Ryan. He didn’t really want to fuck any guy… at least he didn’t think he did. He was still kind of confused about all that, after Vern he didn’t really  _ want _ sex, though sometimes he did want to please someone. 

He had tried when he got out, he really had. Colin had been more than happy to hook him up with one of the sluts running around, and they were more than happy to do him for a hit. He had  _ tried _ , but he had no interest anymore in taking control, he had no interest in anything other than, well, rough dominant males. He wasn’t gay, he liked girls, he just didn’t think that way anymore. Males like Colin and the buyers that came around triggered a very… feminine response. He flirted and he seduced, and eventually that was how they saw him too. The girls stopped seeing him as a ticket to a hit, and more as competition, though he hadn’t fucked anyone since he had gotten out. The only person that would have the opportunity was Colin, and up until now the other had shown no interest. He suspected it was because he had been acting even more… needy, seductive since Vern showed up, old training coming to the forefront. 

Colin was waiting for him, a large grin on his face, and he took Beecher’s bag from him when he reached him. He let him, glancing around wildly for Vern. The big man was no where to be seen and it was like a lead weight settled in Beecher’s stomach as he mustered up a smile for Colin. 

“You ready to go Beech? You get your tips?”

He had actually almost forgotten them and shook his head, turning to get his tips from the bar. The girl keeping them shot him a smile and held up one finger and he patiently waited while she finished with the customer. She went and grabbed his tips and came back. “Thanks.” He tried to bite his tongue but the words slipped out anyways, “Where is the floor boss?”

She shrugged and he couldn’t help but frown. She winked at him, “Sounds like someone has a crush.”

He forced a laugh, not willing to give up information about his past and headed back to Colin, slipping the money in his pocket, “All ready.”

Colin directed him to the door, one hand grasping the back of his neck possessively. He didn’t like it, but wouldn’t speak up. Just before the door he glanced around one more time for Vern, feeling more anxious when he didn’t see him. He shouldn’t be worrying about him. He had two days off, two days without having to see that asshole and he should be happy, but he couldn’t help feeling disappointed.

The trip home was relatively silent as Beecher fought off the urge to push Colin away from him, to make the other man stop touching him. He was hesitant to do so, he knew that Colin had changed the rules the night before and he was not looking for anymore bruises. He knew that something might happen and he tried to screw up the courage now to be able to say no later. They reached the front door and Beecher took his bag from Colin so he could unlock the door. He eased in while Colin held open the door, scrambling to think of what he was going to say. Colin looked like he was about to say something and Beecher quickly headed towards the bathroom, saying he wanted to take a shower.

The last glimpse he got of Colin the other look frustrated as he ducked into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door to discourage the other from following him. He turned on the shower and then let out a huff of air and leaned against the door, jumping when the door handle was turned. He held his breathe, hoping the other would just leave but he knocked instead, “Beecher.”

“Yea?”

“Open the door.”

“I was just jumping in the-”

“Open the door.” There was no mistaking it as an order and Beecher shakily moved away from the door, unlocking it and pulling it open. 

“What?” He hadn’t meant to sound so sharp and averted his eyes when the anger flashed over Colin’s face.

“You can be such a bitch. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Involuntarily his back teeth grit at being called a bitch, but he didn’t show it. “I’m fine.” He made a motion to shut the door, even as he knew what Colin’s response would be to getting the door slammed in his face. He was purposely antagonizing Colin, he could admit that to himself. At least whatever happened next wouldn’t be his fault.

Colin slammed one hand on the door keeping it open and reached out with his other one and Beecher reacted, shoving Colin away just enough that he could get the door closed. He almost made it but Colin caught the edge and shoved it open with enough force to knock him on his ass. Beecher scrambled to get up, hands up defensively.

Colin grabbed him by his hair and dragged him to his knees, hitting him hard across the face, Beecher crying out as the strike landed in the same place as the bruises he was already sporting. There was a quick moment then that Beecher was sure that he was gonna get a cock shoved down his throat, he could see Colin hard against his pants, but instead he was dragged to his feet and shoved into the shower fully clothed, hitting his shoulder hard on the edge of the tub. He gasped a little for air as the cold water hit him, he hadn’t gotten a chance to adjust it yet. “Take your fucking shower and then we are going to talk. You understand?”

He nodded, afraid. Colin left, leaving the door open. He got the message. He stripped off the wet clothes, shivering. He adjusted the temperature and got in, quickly washing off. He knew better than to try to stall, he knew from experience that having someone have to come back and get him would only result in him getting hurt worse.

He got out and dried off, regretting that he had to exit the room in only a towel, but his clothes were soaked. He hoped that Colin would let him get dressed first, he didn’t want to have to face the other half naked. He glanced out the door and headed for the bedroom, hesitating only a moment as he worried about what he would do if the other was in there. He had no choice, at least not any good ones, so he trudged on to the bedroom. Colin was no where to be seen and he quickly got dressed, even taking the time to dash back to the bathroom and put his wet clothes with the dirty laundry.

He knew that he couldn’t stall anymore and headed to the living, stumbling a little as he was surprised by Colin sitting on the couch with his head in his hands. He approached him, not sure what he should do, but he finally settled for sitting next to him on the couch. Colin didn’t look up right away, but finally did so with a sigh.

“I don’t understand you Beecher.”

He looked away, he knew that he wasn’t easy to get along with, not anymore. He was so touchy and his behavior was usually pretty conflicting because he honestly didn’t know what he wanted anymore. Fear still rumbled in his stomach though so he looked at the ground. “Sorry.”

Colin let out an annoyed huff, “That is what I’m talking about! 15 minutes ago you tried to slam the door in my face, an hour before that you were doing your damnest to get me to fuck you – and don’t even try to deny it! And now you are submissive and sorry, it’s giving me an aneurism trying to deal with you!”

He hated facing his problems and he looked up, sneering, “That is an awfully big word for you, isn’t it?”

Colin took a deep breath before answering, “And that. You used to do that sometimes but you stopped. Now you are doing it again.”

He frowned, “Doing what?”

“Trying to get me to hurt you. Is that what you want? Because if it is, you are certainly on your way to getting it.”

“Of course I don’t want you to hurt me, I’m not stupid.”

“You must be.” He rocked to his feet and Beecher couldn’t help it as he cringed away. “What can I do to get you to stop this? You want me to beat your ass to keep you in line?” Colin moved closer, invading his space, “What do I have to do Beecher? Do I have to rape you to-?”

Beecher was on his feet and halfway across the room before he even realized it, heart beating fast. Just the word, four little letters, was enough to send him into a panic. “D-don’t, don’t touch me.”

Colin nodded, as if he was satisfied with that response. “I want you to give the bitchiness a rest Beecher, I’m not kidding. I’ll do what I need to to get you into line. I don’t care what Ryan says, he doesn’t have to deal with you.”

Beecher’s stomach was twisting, Colin had never talked to him like that before. “You…. You k-keep hitting me in the face like this and you’re gonna see my money from the bar go way down.”

He was shaking his head, a frighteningly determined look on his face, “Then I’ll hit you somewhere that doesn’t show. I’ve reached my limit of you running around here like you can do whatever you want, of you running around acting every inch a bitchy little cock tease.”

“I… I don’t. I’m not.” He was though, wasn’t he? That was what Vern had trained him to be. “I’ll knock off the b… bitchiness, I promise.” Except that he didn’t want to, he wasn’t in Oz still, he didn’t want to be anyone’s prag. Colin was looking happier and he should just leave it alone but he continued, “I could always leave though. I don’t… I don’t have to take you hitting me.”

Colin laughed, “Go ahead then. Leave.”

Vern used to do that too. For a moment he was going to leave, but reality kicked in and he realized he had no where to go. If he left he would be on the streets, and the only places he could end up would be worse than where he was now. He swallowed down a lot of pride, and he didn’t really have that much left, and shook his head. 

“Alright, we got that settled. Get some sleep Beecher. You got your two days off, and you can get your head straight about Schillinger. That is what has you all turned around, isn’t it? We were getting along fine before he started working there.”

A little light went off in Beecher’s head and he forced himself to look helpless, even as he moved closer to Colin. “Yeah, lots…. Lots of bad stuff coming back seeing him. Seeing him… every night. Can’t escape it Colin.”

And now Colin should look unsure and maybe offer to talk to Ryan about him not working there anymore but Colin’s face hardened, “You really do think it’s that easy to play me, don’t you? Ryan said you were but I didn’t agree.”

“I wasn’t playing you, he really does-”

“Stop now Beecher, before I do something we’ll both regret.”

He had a moment that he should have kept him mouth shut and gone to sleep but he didn’t. Instead he squared his shoulders, “Why should I stop now when it’s been working so well?”


	5. Chapter 5

A day later Beecher took the time to really examine his injuries, Colin had did a number on him. He was sure his ribs were bruised, though he was rather certain they weren’t broken. His jaw was a nasty mess of a bruise, Colin really had some learning to do, he kept hitting in the face like that and someone would catch on. A bad bruise spread over his shoulder where he had fallen in the tub and he was still pissing blood from a rather vicious kick to his kidney. At least he hadn’t raped him. Colin had left early in the morning, he hadn’t said where too but he had told Beecher to stay and he wasn’t stupid enough to try to leave. He did have to get out though, he knew that, Colin would only get worse if he got away with it this time. And he would, because what would Beecher do? File a police report? Tattle to Ryan?

He hadn’t wanted to check out his bruises until he was alone and he felt like crying. He would have to call off another day of work, would have to talk to Schillinger and hopefully get out of work without having to tell him what happened. There was no way this much damage could be covered up. It would take a few days for the bruises to fade to something that he could strip with, one more night wouldn’t do it. He would worry about losing his job for missing so much time, but he didn’t think Vern would make it that easy for him. 

He should have kept his mouth shut, but he just couldn’t. He was more afraid of Vern than anything else in the world and he had still occasionally rebelled against him, he just couldn’t stop the words sometimes, and Colin certainly had made him pay. Now… now he would be a little more discreet though, he hadn’t feared Colin, not really. He did now.

He dressed carefully and headed into the living room, turning the TV on and curling up on the couch. It was quiet in the apartment and he didn’t like it, not after being around other people 24/7 in Oz. He must have dozed off because he woke up when he heard the door handle rattling, and sleepily sat up.

Colin pressed into the room, his arms wrapped around a blonde that was busy sucking on his neck. He met Beecher’s eyes over her head and smirked. Beecher had no reason to be upset or jealous but found himself looking away abruptly. He tried to be invisible as the two stumbled past him, hands all over each other, but the girl spotted him.

She was obviously drunk and gave him a goofy grin, one breast nearly spilling out of her top. He wanted to find that attractive, wanted to stare at her breast, but there was nothing. “Hi! Who are you?”

Colin spoke before he could, “He’s no one.” He pulled her towards the bedroom. “He wouldn’t be interested anyways, he doesn’t really swing that way.”

“That’s not fair.” He didn’t think they even heard him as the bedroom door slammed firmly shut and he was left alone again. They were loud, and Beecher sighed, trying to fall back asleep. He had the feeling, as odd as it sounded, that Colin was sleeping with the woman to get back at him somehow. To hurt him and even odder… it was working, kind of. He felt left out, and more than that he felt powerless since Colin was pretty much telling him that he didn’t want Beecher. Not that he wanted Colin too… it was all so confusing. He rolled over and buried his face into his pillow, screaming into it.

He didn’t remember falling back asleep but suddenly he was back in Oz, back sitting meekly next to Vern. That didn’t seem quite right, he should have been paroled… Vern shouldn’t be here. He turned to him, words on the tip of his tongue, but Vern’s grin froze the words in his throat as he looked quickly to the floor.

“That’s right, eyes down prag.”

Instead of sitting quietly like he was supposed to he found himself kneeling in front of Vern, reaching for Vern’s zipper. His head was screaming for him to stop but he wasn’t, he was pulling Vern out of his pants, sucking him in the middle of Oz. While others watched he sucked him off, Vern tugging roughly on his hair. Everyone in Oz was watching him be degraded… watching him do it by choice… and that finally rocked him out of his dream, because there was no way something like that could go on that public in Oz.

He sat up, gasping, and gagging. He ran to the bathroom, dropping down in front of the toilet and throwing up the little he had eaten that day. It may have only been a dream but he knew the taste of Vern enough to bring back the very real memory of it. It wasn’t so much the cock sucking that rolled his stomach, but the humiliation he had felt. The helplessness.

He was still heaving when someone was behind him, hands on his hips and he screamed, trying to pull away and crying when instead he was held down. “Hey, hey, it’s alright.”

It was a female’s voice and he realized why the arms didn’t feel very strong. He shuddered, wanting to pull away, still dry heaving. He finally managed to get out, “Leave… leave me alone. I’m fine.”

She pulled back and he thought she was going away but she must not have believed him that he was okay because she was next to him again, holding a wet cloth to his forehead. He tried to get the energy to tell her to leave again but it felt so nice. He relaxed, finally, and glanced at her. She was smiling at him, and she looked a lot less drunk. She looked like she had woken up in a hurry, he had probably woken her up with the noise he had been making. He looked away and muttered, “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you up.”

She shook her head, “Don’t worry about it. Are you alright? What happened?”

“Bad dream I guess.” Tears still slid down his face but he was starting to get it under control. He glanced at her, “Don’t tell him I woke you up, okay?” Now that he was calming he could feel how bad his ribs hurt with throwing up, and he wanted nothing more than to crawl back under his covers. He started to get up and she grabbed his arm, helping him. 

She met his eyes in the mirror, “Don’t worry about it, are you alright now?”

No, he hadn’t been for a long time. He lowered his eyes though, and answered, “Yes, thank you. Much better.”

Thankfully she left him alone and he splashed some water on his face, meeting his own eyes in the mirror. He hadn’t dreamed about Vern in 3 years and now after just a few days of seeing him it was like he was back to square one. There had been a few nights in Oz after he had just been rid of Vern that he had woken up in tears and had Ryan there to calm them. He brushed his teeth and eased out of the bathroom, happy when there was no one there. 

He had nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. He didn’t have his own room, the most he could do was lay back down on the couch, pulling the blanket up around him. He didn’t want to be here when Colin got up, he didn’t want to be here period. He had no options though, not really. He curled up on the couch with a sigh, pulling the blanket up to his chin, and prayed that he would not have any more dreams.

  
  


He woke up only a few hours later, the house still silent and if the light outside was anything to go by, just after dawn. He stretched and winced as it put a hurtin on his bruises, but ignored them and rocked to his feet. There were still a pair of woman’s heels by the door so they must still be sleeping. He shrugged his shoulders, and headed to the kitchen to make something to eat. He was only just getting the pans out when Colin showed up in the door, watching him silently. Beecher refused to meet his eyes and eventually the other made an annoyed sound and snapped out, “Make some breakfast.”

He didn’t argue though his fist tightened on the handle of the pan, that was the first time Colin had ever ordered him to do something. He didn’t like it. He obeyed though, hell, the last 4 years he had been groomed to obey. By the time the girl was up there was bacon and eggs coming off the stove. It was awkward at best, as they all sat at the table eating. Beecher mostly moved the food around, still not feeling that up to eating. The girl gave him a smile, “Still feeling sick?”

He winced, she must be stupid to have already forgotten that he asked her not to mention it. Would it be too much to hope that Colin wouldn’t notice? “Fine.”

“When were you sick?” Yup, too much to hope.

He glanced away, “Earlier. Nothing big.”

Now the girl looked confused, “He was throwing up. Said he had a bad dream.”

And now he hated her. There was silence for a few moments and then Colin spoke up, his voice softer than it had been in days, “You have a dream about Vern?”

He didn’t look up, but set down his fork as the memory made his stomach clench. Just to end the silence he spoke up, “Yes.”  
“Who’s Vern?”

Colin shot the girl an annoyed glance as he got up and moved to Beecher, tilting his chin up until he could meet his eyes. “A bad one?”

The girl was looking back and forth between them, suspicion on her face, “What is going on here?”

He barely glanced at her, “I’m done with you, you can leave.”  
First she looked shocked and then outraged as she stood and moved jerkily, gathering her things. When she reached the door she paused, “I’ll just leave you to your _boyfriend_.”

Colin waved a hand at her dismissively, his eyes on Beecher. Her face turned red and she stormed out, but Colin didn’t seem to notice. He was too busy eyeing Beecher. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

He mustered a half assed sneer, “You were busy.”

“You should have woken me up.”

“Why, so I could interrupt you and you could beat my ass again? No thanks.”

Colin made an aggravated sound and Beecher couldn’t help flinching, hands coming up to cover his face. Nothing happened and he lowered them quickly, eyes on the floor. Vern had taught him to take his punishments, not to cower away. That would only make it worse. He waited silently, knowing that his continued behavior was making Colin angrier. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Colin run his hands through his hair. “Go get dressed. We got to get groceries and stuff.”

He didn’t move, his jaw clenched. “I don’t want to go out looking like this.”

“You’ll do what you’re told.”

He met his eyes, it felt like his anger was pressing against his skin, making it nearly impossible to think. He was mad, mad that he wasn’t in prison but here he was being someone’s bitch. More importantly… he was angry that he was going to have to call in to work and look weak in front of Vern. Even if he didn’t say why he couldn’t come in… Vern would know. Somehow he would find out and  _ know _ . “No.”

Colin raised his hand and the thought of taking a blow against his already swollen jaw was enough to break his resolve and he skittered back a couple feet, wincing. “Sorry, I’m going.”

He hated that it proved Colin right, that a beating was what he needed to get him into line. Beecher could be controlled with words, but fists were proving to be quicker. He pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, so different than the suits he used to wear. He went into the living room, hyper aware of Colin watching him, and sat down on the floor to pull on his sneakers. He didn’t mind grocery shopping, just another domestic chore he was used to, though Colin normally sent him on his own to do it. He glanced up, “Don’t trust me to go on my own?”

“Thought you would like some company.”

Beecher rolled his eyes, “You thought I might try to score some.”

He was startled by how suddenly Colin was in his face, “No, I’m pretty sure you’re too scared to do anything that I tell you not to.”

He would argue about that, but it was true. So instead he stood up, lightly bumping Colin out of the way as he went to go get Colin’s keys. He was mad, and he hadn’t felt that way in quite awhile. Seeing Vern had really brought up a lot of things, including the rage that had been enough to throw a chair through a window at the other man. The kind of wild rage that led him to biting off a chunk of another inmate. He had to rein it in though, he had nothing to lose in prison but he did out here. Like a place to live and really the only friends, as loose as he could use the term, that he had.

He handed Colin his keys without a word and headed out the door, hoping that Colin would just cool it for a little bit until he could calm down. If the other kept pushing now he might lose control and he really didn’t want that to happen. Not now. Of course, he could always kill Colin and end up back in Oz. He idly wondered if Ryan would still let him bunk with him if he killed his buddy. He bet he would.

The trip went smoothly, Toby did his best not to pout and for his part Colin was pretty quiet, only giving his occasional input into what kind of food he wanted. Beecher already knew his favorites, of course. He was perturbed at how Colin acted like nothing was wrong, and the looks he was getting from people as they saw his bruises was not making his mood any better. He was reaching up to get something on the top shelf when Colin pressed up against him from behind, reaching over his head. “Let me get that for you.”

He whirled around, holding the box of cereal protectively to his chest, his voice shaky, “I got it.”

Colin gave him a look that he had seen a hundred times before, but never on Colin’s face. He shrank back against the shelf, boxes tipping over. Colin backed off, but Toby was shaken. How was he supposed to keep shopping like it was normal when there was a promise in Colin’s face, in the way he moved his body. He looked down quickly, pretending to check for groceries in the cart. He wasn’t sure Colin even knew he was giving his intentions away, but it was something that Toby had learned to recognize.

He cleared his throat, “I’m gonna… I’m going to have to call in to work tonight.”

“Why?”

Toby closed his eyes for a moment, trying to control his temper. “I can’t go into work with half my face bruised. Or my ribs.”

Colin glanced at him and waved his hand dismissively, “Just put that makeup stuff on.”

“It won’t cover this.”

Colin shrugged as he read the back of a Lucky Charms box. “Whatever, guess you know more about makeup than me.”

Toby was still biting his tongue about that when they turned the corner and came face to face with Vern. Toby made a small squeak sound and Colin abruptly straightened, dropping the box of Lucky Charms into the cart. Vern had a sneer on his face but it was gone the moment he looked at Beecher, though he quickly hid it. “Toby.”

Beecher glanced at Colin, who looked bored, and sighed. “Schillinger.”

“Fancy meeting you here.”

Colin did speak up, “It’s a free world. We’re grocery shopping.”

Vern eyed Colin as he smirked, “How very domestic of you.”

“Do you want to start something?”

Vern raised an eyebrow at him and pointed at the blue basket he was holding in his other hand, “I’m just here getting some stuff for dinner, a little dramatic aren’t ya?”

Toby was looking back and forth between them and finally nudged Colin, “Come on, let’s finish up.”

“Don’t tell me what to do Toby.”

“Talk about domestic, you the one that beat his face in?”

“None of your business!”

"Is that true Toby, is that none of my business?"

Toby kept his eyes down and moved nearly behind Colin, "Can we please go Colin?"

Colin was busy glaring at Vern but he did reach back to grab Beecher's arm hard enough to hurt and pushed him forward, "Yea, lets go."

They were almost past him when Vern reached out to grab Beecher's other arm, giving him visions of a tug of war over him. "I'm guessing you won't be into work tonight?"

Colin yanked Toby's arm abruptly, making Vern lose his grip, "No, he won't."

Vern laughed, "Oh Toby, you dumb bastard. Let me guess, you fall down the stairs?"

Toby was gritting his teeth, this felt horrible. He didn’t want two guys sniping at each other over him, and he hated that not only did Vern know exactly what was going on but he probably knew exactly what Beecher was thinking. He met his eyes and Vern let out a snort of laughter, “Woo, do I know that look.” He took a mocking step back, “No chairs around here, right?”

Beecher actually took a step towards him before Colin stopped him. “What are you doing?”

He was too close to the edge and at that moment he wanted to do nothing but find something heavy and bash Vern upside the head with it for being so condescending. He ignored Colin and tried to dodge around him, eyes only for Vern. He was startled when Colin grabbed him roughly, shoving him to the floor. “What the fuck!”

Colin looked surprised at first, but then his face darkened and it was enough to bring Beecher out of the daze he was in. He glanced around and Vern was nowhere to be seen, only a mighty pissed off Colin. People were staring and Colin reached down to grab Beecher’s elbow, pulling him to his feet, his whispered low so only Beecher could hear, “I don’t know what the fuck that was about, but if you ever talk to me in that tone of voice again I’ll beat your ass so bad you’ll never be able to walk again.”

His ribs were throbbing, a pretty strong reminder, and he couldn’t stop the whimper in his voice, “I’m sorry Colin, Schillinger just… I’m sorry.”

Colin searched his face, “If you are just trying to get me to let you off of working there-“

Beecher spoke up too quickly to be lying, “No, no, I wouldn’t.”

Colin eyed him for a moment before letting him go, “Finish the shopping Beecher, we’ll talk when we get home.”

He gripped the cart hard enough that his fingers turned white and the moment Colin wasn’t watching him he scanned the market frantically for Vern. He had to still be there, he couldn’t have walked away that completely. Hell.. he still had to finish his shopping. There, he caught a glimpse of him, but nearly fell over himself looking at the floor when Colin glanced at him.

He was sure Colin was eyeing him but he was almost out of control, desperate to find Schillinger. He couldn’t even say why. He passed by the soup they get and Colin reached out to grab his arm and pointed at them, “Hey, pay attention.”

He angrily grabbed the cans, slamming them into the cart, cringing and whimpering before Colin could even do anything. He let out a cry, “I’m sorry!” He hadn’t needed to even look at Colin to know the attitude was getting the other angry, and he was helpless to stop it. He reached out and startled Colin by grabbing his hand, “Please, please, just help me, I can’t … I’m so frustrated.”

Colin looked lost, some of the anger seeping from his face as he realized that Beecher was legitimately trying to behave, He reached out to grab his elbow, hold gentle. “Relax Beecher, we’ll get Vern sorted out. I won’t let him touch you.”

It wasn’t that… it wasn’t that! He intentionally took a few deep breaths and forced himself to relax, forced himself to let it go like he had in Oz. He had lost some of his control, in there he had known it would get him killed if he lost control but he had gotten soft in the meantime. He finally tilted his head down, voice as soft as he could make it, “I’m alright, I’m sorry it was just… no excuses, I’m sorry.”

Just like that… he was back in Oz. Colin was a poor choice for an owner though, he couldn’t do a good job at protecting him. Beecher may have been a bitch in prison, but he had always been owned by the boss, not by the muscle. The rest of shopping was done in silence, and he didn’t resist when Colin held his arm.

He managed to catch Schillinger’s eyes once and whatever the other saw on his face made him straighten abruptly, eyes glancing towards Colin. When they landed back on Beecher he couldn’t help it, he gave him that desperate look and looked away… what was he doing?

Colin pulled him close, letting him get in line with the cart and nearly plastering himself to his back and he would be stupid not to feel the hardness pressing against his ass. “I promise I’ll take good care of you Beecher, I know you’ve been wanting me to fuck you since you came here.”

He managed to not respond to the words at all, he had already expected as much so he would not give him the satisfaction of being afraid. Someone in the line next to them dropped something, and he vaguely wondered if it was in response to the words. Mechanically Beecher started placing the objects on the counter and mumbled out, “I don’t wanna fuck.” 

It was his only hope but Colin’s grip tightened painfully and there was no give in his voice, “Don’t make me force you Beecher, it doesn’t need to be like that.”

He swallowed hard, nodding his compliance, somehow finding the whole thing more humiliating when he saw Vern leaving the line next to them, sure he had heard. “Of course Colin, I’m sorry.”

He backed off, smiling at Beecher in such a way that he was sure Colin didn’t even think he was doing anything wrong. They loaded the groceries, Beecher carefully placing them, trying to buy himself sometime. He was sliding back into the role now, but he would not nicely bend over, not the way he was now.


	6. Chapter 6

When they got home Beecher was so caught up in planning he never saw someone waiting in the shadows for them. Colin was actually easy to take out with his arms full of groceries, and Beecher froze as the person stepped up and threw one punch, knocking the other man out cold. 

He stood there stupidly holding the grocery bags tight to his chest staring at Vern. The other looked perturbed and stepped over Colin’s unconscious form, straight for Beecher. All his tough talk left him, handling Colin was one thing but faced with Vern he could only be what he had always been… a terrified bitch. “No… no please.”

He didn’t hesitate as he reached him, grabbing his arm and making him drop the groceries. “Come on.” He started dragging him towards Colin’s apartment and that just confused him and he tried to pull away.

“Please…”

Vern rubbed his other hand over his face, “Listen just.. just pack up your god damn stuff, okay?”

He stood in the entryway, literally shaking, and that just made no sense, “What?” He cringed back, “Sorry, sir.”

“Pack up your stuff. The stuff you own. Get it all, you’re leaving.”

“Where am I going?”

“With me.”

Beecher made a small sound, terrified, and when Vern pressed into his personal space he nearly pissed himself. Vern only gave him a slight push, “Beecher, go pack your stuff. Now. It’s not a suggestion.”

He was crying, he couldn’t help it, and was rooted to the spot. Vern took a step towards him and he shook out of it, cringing away, “Okay, okay, please sir.”

He headed into the bedroom, aware of Vern only steps behind him. He followed him in the room and Beecher threw an anxious glance towards the bed, but Vern didn’t even glance at it. He pulled out a duffle bag, pulling out his clothes and stuffing them in, they didn’t even fill half the bag. He gripped it with both hands, knuckles white, “Sir?”

Vern was looking at him funny, “That’s all you have?”

Given the situation he shouldn’t be embarrassed but he was, face flushing. So what if he didn’t have much stuff, he didn’t need anything, “Yes, sir.”

“You don’t need to…” He shook his head and waved his hand. “Nevermind. Let’s go.”

He followed him wondering what the hell he was doing. He tried to call the attitude to him, the anger earlier he had been struggling to bite back, but it was gone. He hoped Colin had woken up and would protect him but the other was still unconscious. He even knew where weapons were stashed in the apartment and he cursed himself as he didn’t have the balls to go for them. He must have hesitated though because caution filtered across Vern’s face and he reached out to take a hold of his arm. “Believe me toBIas, now would not be the time to grow a pair.”

He whimpered and relinquished his duffel when Vern reached for it. He glanced in it and frowned, “No pictures or anything? You had more in Oz.” Vern stared at him like he was waiting for some kind of response and nearly snarled out, “You had more in  _ prison,  _ this is all you have? You don’t have anything else?” He shook his head fearfully, not understanding the frustration on Vern’s face.

“No, I’m sorry sir.” 

“Just go, I want to get the hell out of here.”

He pushed him ahead of him, Beecher stumbling a few steps when he walked around Colin, wanting to check on him to see if he was alright, but too afraid to do anything. His mind was screaming at him to do something but he just trudged along docilely, climbing into the passenger side of the vehicle when Vern opened the door. Vern eyed him, “Stay put, do I need to restrain you?”

That was it, the thought of that and he couldn’t help it as he pissed himself. Vern noticed right away, “Fuck!” He slammed the door shut, stomping to the other side. Beecher pressed himself against the far door and Vern angrily shoved the keys in the ignition. “Jesus fucking Christ Beecher!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He hadn’t been this frightened since he had been Vern’s bitch, not since that first night even, and he couldn’t stop from sobbing, “I’m sorry sir.”

Vern rubbed his hand over his face, trying to control himself, “Stop crying, okay? It’s fine.” 

Beecher tried to look as small as possible, trying to figure out what was going on, trying to figure out why Vern had taken him. “Where are we going?”

“I…” Abruptly he slammed on the brakes when the car in front of him did, throwing his arm out to stop Beecher from hitting the dashboard. “Put your god damn seatbelt on.” 

Beecher instantly did, body shaking hard enough that it was visible. He had to resist the urge to try to shake off where Vern had touched him, and he forced out again, “Where are we going?”

“My place. I guess… I mean, fuck, yea my place.”

“Why?”

“I’m not entirely sure.”

Somehow that was even more frightening than if Vern had a plan, and Beecher could only huddle against the door and wait to find out what was going to happen to him. It occurred to him that he should be paying attention to where they were going, but he was already too far gone to pay attention.

Eventually they pulled up to a small apartment building and Vern put the vehicle in park. “Listen, you’re gonna go with me and be quiet and not make a scene. Got it?”

“Yes sir.”

He got out and came to the passenger side, pulling open the door and grabbing Beecher roughly by the arm. He shouldered the duffel bag and started to pull him inside. He hesitated as someone came through the door, nodding his head at them in a friendly manner. Under other circumstances it might have been odd to see Vern acting so normal, but now wasn’t the time.

They rode up in the elevator, Vern never relaxing his hold. They walked down a dark hallway and for the first time Beecher really thought that his life could be in danger and he started to pull against the grip. He wasn’t in Oz, he could run anywhere… hell he could call the police for kidnapping.

Vern noticed, and tightened his grip, “Don’t Beecher.”

He pushed inside the apartment, and shut the door behind him, locking it. He let go of Beecher and leaned against it. “Well, here we are.”

He stared at him, no idea what was expected of him. When Vern just watched him he muttered out, “Sorry, sir.”

“Man, you really are fucked up, aren’t you?” Beecher’s head came up in shock at that, finally something like anger filtering through his eyes before he looked back down. Vern sighed, shoving the duffel bag at him, “You need a shower, go take one and get changed. Put those clothes in the hamper.”

Beecher nodded, sniffling as a numbness started to take over. He was sure that Vern was going to kill him… or at least make him wish he was dead. He moved into the bathroom but hesitated, before stepping back out into the living room, eyes down, waiting for Vern to acknowledge him.

“What? I told you to shower.”

“Yes sir, I’m sorry… may I shut the door?”

Vern watched him for a long time, long enough to make him shift his weight, but he didn’t think he had done anything wrong so he waited. “Is that how you lived with that guy? Like you were in prison still?”

“I just… no… I just lived there.”

Vern shook his head at the confusing answer, “Yes, you can shut the door. If you want there is an extra razor and toothbrush under the sink. Get cleaned up and then we’ll talk.” Beecher nodded and obediently headed back towards the bathroom.

He looked so miserable that Vern stood up quickly, grabbing his arm, ignoring that it scared him. He caught those blue eyes, “I know you’re scared Beecher, I’m just… I’m not going to hurt you.” 

“What are you going to do?”

He was too close to not see the uncertainty of Vern’s face, but it slid away quickly, “Right now I’m pulling you from that jackass before he fucks you.”

That was an answer anyways, Beecher didn’t completely understand it, but when Vern let him go he tilted his head down submissively and headed into the bathroom. It was a relief to be able to shut the door, even lock it, though he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to. 

He leaned against the door trying to figure out what had happened. He had accepted going back to being a prag, had even thought about that if he was gonna roll over it wouldn’t be for muscle like Colin… did Vern pick up on that? Had he brought him back here to go back to playing bunkmates? He wouldn’t do that… he couldn’t… he wasn’t even sure he had a choice.

He looked under the sink, finding the stuff Vern was talking about. A shower sounded beyond good, especially now that the sticky feeling of having wet himself was difficult to ignore. He would have time later to be embarrassed by that, but they both knew it was the first time Vern had made him wet himself like that. That meant something, he just wasn’t sure what.

He pulled off his clothes though he couldn’t stop the shaking, looking around for the hamper. He put the clothes in, taking a moment to think about how surreal it was that he was standing in Vern’s bathroom, taking a shower like it was perfectly normal. This… nothing about this life was normal. The water was a good temperature and he got in, taking a moment to enjoy knowing he had complete privacy. He poured the soap into his hands, nose wrinkling as he realized it was the scent he identified with Vern.

It bothered him that he took so well to this, bothered him that he was doing as Vern said, why wasn’t he trying to escape, call the police? There was no reason he couldn’t take responsibility for himself, but that thought was more frightening than being back under Schillinger… almost. He was hit with a sudden wave of guilt as he realized he hadn’t even thought of Colin, he hoped he was okay. 

He turned the shower off, holding completely still to listen to if there was any noise from outside the bathroom. What would Vern do if he just refused to leave the bathroom? He pulled out his duffel bag, visions of Vern breaking the door down running through his head. He didn’t have many clothes to choose from and pulled on a t-shirt and jeans… almost tempted to put his Oz clothes back on, but then again he didn’t really want to bring any more attention to when they had been in. Instinctually something told him that Vern wouldn’t like it.

He was startled by a knock on the door, dropping the duffel bag. “Beecher? Open the door.”

He froze for a moment, wondering what he had done wrong. Vern didn’t sound angry but he knew better than to trust that. He quickly moved to the door, unlocking it and pulling it open, afraid of what would happen if he made him wait. He tilted his head down, hands behind his back, “Sir.”

He ignored it, looking Beecher over. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

Vern reached out, grabbing Beecher’s arm and pulling him closer. Beecher didn’t flinch or pull back, accepting whatever Vern wanted. Fingers were on his face and he realized that Vern was checking out his injuries. “That guy do this?”

No reason to lie now. “Yes.” His hands had fallen to his sides but he realized his lapse and moved them behind his back, “Sir.”

“Why?”

He tilted his head, confused, until he realized what Vern was asking. He anxiously looked at the ground, bitter words coming out without his consent, “For being a bitch.”

He couldn’t see the unease on Vern’s face, “What does that mean?”

Beecher’s eyes jumped up, inexplicably angry, “It means I was being a cock tease – like you trained me to be. He claimed I was … manipulating him…”

Vern let out an abrupt laugh, startling Beecher. “You were manipulating him, huh?” He was shaking his head, “Do you even know how fucked up that is?” Vern grabbed his arm and pulled Beecher towards the mirror, “Look at yourself, you’re freaking being  _ beat _ .”

He didn’t want to look, too ashamed. Vern reached up one hand to tilt his head up, making him look. He didn’t like what he saw and struggled to look away, finally out of frustration he snapped out, “Nothing worse than what you’ve done to me.”

He let him go all at once and visibly took a deep breath to calm himself. “ _ In prison _ .” He pointed at him, “Forget who is doing it to you, you took it when you had nowhere else to go, I don’t get why you are free and still choosing to stay with someone treating you like their prag!”

He struggled for the words, the same question he had been asking himself. It was easier, it was safer, it was what he knew, it let him hide. The last thing in the world he wanted was to break down in front of Vern Schillinger though, so he struggled to come up with something,  _ anything _ . It wasn’t working though, he opened his mouth to snap back at him, to defend himself, but instead a harsh sob made its way out.

He lifted his hands quickly, covering his face, trying to back up away from Schillinger. Scared of some kind of retaliation for losing it like this. “Beecher, come on.” Schillinger grabbed his arm, pulling him out of the bathroom. He barely paid attention, blindly being led and stumbled when he was pressed down to sit on the couch. “Calm down.”

He could only sit on the couch and blubber like a little kid. After a moment he felt Vern’s weight settle next to him and a hand land on his shoulder. The tears tapered off abruptly, he knew what he was supposed to do. Without having to be told he turned, reaching for Vern’s pants, startled when big hands grabbed his wrists and stopped him. “What?”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m just…” Even though he wasn’t supposed to, he looked up to meet his eyes, confused, “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Vern looked just as confused and then his face clouded over, “No Beecher, that’s not what I want.”

“Then  _ what? _ ” He waved his arms around as he rocked to his feet, pacing, frantic, “What is all this about, why are you doing this? What do you want from me?”

“I don’t know Beecher, I don’t know!” Vern had stood as well, nearly screaming in his face and the silence was unbearable. After a long moment Vern eased back, toning down his voice, “I’m just… I’m honestly trying to help you Beecher. You’re fucked up.”

“You fucked me up.”

“I did.” He rubbed the back of his head, “I did. I’m just trying to… I’m trying to make things right.”

He laughed hysterically at that, voice cracking into something close to tears, “You think you can make this right?” Finally all pretense of holding it together disappeared and he sobbed, “Nothing can make things right!” He backed up until he reached the wall and slid down it, pulling his knees up and burying his face against them. 

“Beecher…” Vern didn’t seem to know what to do and hovered over him. Finally he reached down to grab his arm and pull him out of the ball he was huddled in, “Come on, I think we’ll call it a night and talk in the morning.”

They were clearly moving towards a bedroom but Beecher felt broken, and knew that he wouldn’t even protest. At the door Vern only gave him a push inside though, staying by the door. He eyed the room and was frowning. “Listen just… stay in the room okay? Don’t try to leave.”

He wanted to ask or what but instead he let his eyes trail over the room for a moment before looking back to Schillinger. It wasn’t like he had anywhere else to go and he nodded, defeated. “I won’t go anywhere.”

Vern still looked unsure, and reached out to fiddle with the door handle but Beecher ignored him and headed straight for the bed, dropping to it heavily. He kept his eyes down but he could feel Vern still watching him and muttered, “Where would I even go?”

There was only more silence and finally the door closed leaving him in darkness. He huddled against the blankets and cried, too broken to do anything else.


	7. Chapter 7

Oz was a cold lonely place. Beecher whimpered in his sleep, violently tossing and turning, because it wasn’t always the violence, the subjugation that made it an awful place. It was the loneliness and Beecher woke up crying meekly, reaching for someone, anyone but found himself alone. It took time when he woke up, the bed was warm and definitely not the couch he had spent so much time on, blankets tinged with a familiar scent.

He buried his face into them for a moment before he realized why he recognized it and he jerked away in disgust. Vern, everything smelled like him, and it came back quickly. He hunched in on himself but he had made it an entire night without being abused or violated so he slowly relaxed.

He eased out of bed, head tilted as he listened for anyone outside of the door. He couldn't hear anything but he could smell coffee, strong and shocking. He hadn’t had morning coffee since Oz, it wasn’t really Colin’s thing and he was heading towards the door before he thought about it. He expected it to be locked or something and was surprised when the handle turned and the door pushed open. It made him feel a little stupid, because really, he could have walked out at any time.

He weighed his options but finally rolled his shoulders and headed towards the smell, finally easing into the small kitchen. Vern was there, larger than life and as intimidating as ever, but there was no place to go but forward. He moved next to the table and with his eyes trained on the ground he didn’t see Vern glance at him. His hands slid behind his back and he waited. “I figured I’d let you sleep, you had a rough night. Do you want some coffee?”

He did, but didn’t answer, choosing instead to stare at the table. “Beecher, you hear me?”

“Yes.” He cringed, “Yes, sir.”

Vern only shook his head and poured two cups of coffee, “Sit down.” He picked up the creamer but set it down with a huff, “Do you like cream or sugar?”

It was too surreal to have Vern waiting on him and he found himself scrambling to his feet and reaching for them, “I’ll get it.”

“Beecher.” He reached out one hand to stop him, the other holding a cup of coffee still, and the resulting movement made some slosh over his hand. “God damnit!” 

He set the coffee down with a thud and ran his hand under the cold water, watching out of the corner of his eye as Beecher cowered into the corner. It took a couple of slow breaths before he could respond, “The table Beecher, sit at the goddamn table.”

Vern didn’t need to look to know that he would follow the order and he turned his attention to pouring coffee again, dumping the same amount of cream and sugar into Beecher’s as his own and turned back around, setting them on the table. 

Beecher’s face was red, eyes wide, and as much as you could huddle in a chair he was doing it. He glanced at the coffee in front of him a few times but was smart enough to reach out and wrap his hand around it before Vern had to tell him too. It was a learning curve, but he had spent long enough doing whatever Vern told him that he could figure it out.

Vern’s cup of coffee was over half gone before he could even manage to talk. “Okay, listen. You need to relax.”

Beecher stared at him, putting everything he thought of that into the look, but kept his mouth shut, looking down at his coffee and taking a sip. The silence stretched on and Vern was the first to break, “I know, okay?  _ I know _ . You have no reason to trust me, but I am trying to help you. Is that so hard to understand?”

“Yes.” 

Vern sighed and Beecher flinched and it was going to be a long day.

  
  
  


They had sat in silence, drinking their coffee, and eventually even Beecher couldn’t stay so tense and had minutely relaxed, glancing around. The clock said it was almost noon, and he was surprised he had slept so long. He never slept that long. Of course it would be curled up in Vern’s bed that he would finally be able to find some peace. 

He hadn’t dwelled on that, instead glancing around the kitchen. It was small, cheap, with paint peeling on the ceiling and floors that looked like even if you spent the day cleaning them they would still be dingy. When he finally came around to looking at Schillinger the other was clearly embarrassed, despite the defensive glare on his face. He wasn’t sure anyone else would have even noticed it, but he well... he had a fairly familiar knowledge of the other.

Quickly he looked back down to his mug, and managed to keep still when Schillinger got up to get another cup, shaking his head when he was offered one. There was a tension growing between them though, and he wasn’t surprised when the other finally snapped.

“Not exactly the mansion that you were living in huh? Guess working for a living doesn’t pay as well as dealing drugs.”

Some instinct made him want to soothe over the problem, and he flicked his gaze up for a moment before looking back at the table. He had no words though, no idea what to say. He finally wrapped his hands around the mug and mumbled out, “It isn’t a cell.”

Maybe it was the right thing to say, maybe it wasn’t, but the other man abruptly stood up and dropped his mug in the sink, “I’m gonna take a shower.” Beecher didn’t look up but he felt Vern stop next to him and he spoke up before the other could.

“I won’t go anywhere.”

“Just...” A heavy hand landed on his shoulder, squeezing just tight enough to be a threat, “Don’t leave. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.” He knew how defeated he sounded and it must have been clear enough to Vern too because he didn’t say anything else and headed out of the room. 

Beecher waited a few moments to make sure the other was in the bathroom and got up, bringing his cup to the sink, wrinkling his nose at the dirty dishes there. He didn’t really give it much thought as he searched under the sink for dish soap and set about cleaning them, it was pretty much what he had done at Colin’s. 

The shower had stopped but he could just barely make out Vern’s voice, and after a moment of confusion he realized he must have a cell phone and be talking to someone. It sounded pretty heated and to dispel some of the anxiety that caused he pulled out what appeared to be some kind of generic cleaner and a small bucket from under the sink, settling down to try to scrub the floors.

When Vern finally came out of the bathroom his temper was nearly ready to boil over, more shit that he didn’t need and somewhere in the back of his mind he wanted to take it out on the only other person that seemed like they did what he told them to anymore.

What met him though was Beecher on his hands and knees in the kitchen, holding a scrub brush that he didn’t even realize he owned, scrubbing the floors. It looked like he was more than half done and Vern had to admit the floor looked a hell of a lot better than it did. Honestly he had figured it was just that color. A glance told him the dishes had been done and put away, and he didn’t know what to do with this.

“Beecher?”

He startled and sat up quickly, staring at Vern. His eyes darted around the room and he didn’t try to get up, “I just... I wanted to be useful. I thought...”

Vern stared at him for a long time and Beecher was worried he had done something wrong, it went against everything in him to just sit there and do nothing. It was hard to explain, having something to do gave him a purpose, having set rules, chores, helped him to stay calm. When Vern still said nothing he slowly went back to what he was doing, if the other wasn’t going to stop him he’d just keep doing it. 

It felt like a lifetime before Vern spoke, he had already scrubbed another 8 tiles. “You don’t have to do this stuff Beecher, this isn’t... this isn’t why I brought you here.”

He nodded, a nice non-committal type of nod that didn’t mean he agreed with him, but let him know he heard. He expected Vern to either tell him to stop or to leave and wasn’t sure what to do when the other moved past him, carefully placing his feet so as not to scuff the freshly cleaned floor, and sat at the table. 

“I think we need to talk, yea?”

He had been dreading that, and intensified how hard he was scrubbing the floor almost like he could pretend it wasn’t going on. “Sir.”

“What happened to you?”

It was a pretty open ended question and he tilted his head, trying to figure out how he wanted to answer. Finally he sighed, “Sir?”

“After I got paroled, what happened?”

He was used to giving an answer right away or risking a slap, or worse, but an answer didn’t come right away and he didn’t fight it. Let Vern beat him to death, it wouldn’t be much of a loss. There was no sound while he thought about it though, and maybe Vern had learned some patience, though he didn’t want to test it. As soon as the words came together he spoke up. “After you... after the chair the riot happened. I helped Ryan. We were all sent to gen pop and ...” He trailed off, not sure he should continue that line of thinking.

“Heard what you did during the riot. That you were out of your mind. Figured that was the end of you being a prag, but I guess I was wrong.”

He sat back on his heels and looked up at Vern. “I wasn’t Ryan’s prag.”

“Did he fuck you?”

He ground his teeth and refused to be ashamed. “Yes. And I sucked his cock. But he gave a damn about me. I didn’t do it because he made me, I did it because I  _ liked _ Ryan. I wanted him to be happy.”

“What happened after you were paroled?”

He was sure that would have gotten him something snarky, something mean and belittling and was caught off guard when Vern ignored it. “Ryan set me up with one of his friends for a place to stay.”

“Of course he did.” The silence stretched on and Beecher went back to scrubbing. “So you got out and just... slept on this guy’s couch and did drugs and worked at a strip club?”  
“Ryan found me the job.”

“Jesus.” 

His self-preservation seemed to end there and he threw the scrub brush down. “What the fuck is your problem?”

Vern chuckled and there was no undercurrent to it, nothing to make Beecher tense even though he thought he should. “Who would have thought I’d like that nasty attitude. It’s almost a relief at this point to see it.” Vern straightened slightly, “I know you have no reason to believe me Beecher but the last few years have been... different. I’m just trying to...” He rubbed his hand over his head, and when Beecher glanced up he realized Vern was avoiding looking at him, “I’m just trying to help. You don’t need to do drugs, you don’t need to keep being some prag when you aren’t in prison. Don’t you have like... a bunch of degrees?”

“I can’t practice law anymore.”

“Yea, okay, I get that. But the best you can do is stripping?”

“Ryan told me-”

“Yea.” He rubbed his head, again, and Beecher was starting to think it was a nervous habit. “You probably ended up there the same reason I did. Where the fuck else are a couple of ex-cons going to work?”  
It opened up a nice way to change the subject, to stop whatever was going on and Beecher mumbled into the floor, “I’m supposed to work tonight. But I can’t, I’m too bruised.”

“Yea, I figured.” Vern leaned forward in his chair, “I don’t plan on fucking you, I don’t plan on hurting you, I just... people change, Beecher.”

Beecher stared at him for a long time and finally shook his head. “They don’t. You don’t. I don’t. No one does.” He didn’t wait for a response, simply went back to scrubbing the floor, ignoring that Vern sat there watching him in silence. 

They didn’t talk anymore. Vern tried a few times, but gave up after Beecher didn’t respond. He was sure at some point the other would get sick of it and get violent but it never happened. After he finished the kitchen floor he moved on to the living room, the bathroom, aware of Vern watching him but what else was he going to do?


	8. Chapter 8

They stood on opposite sides of the room, both of them clearly frustrated. Vern had to leave for work and the last 20 minutes had been spent going back and forth about what to do with Beecher and at this point Beecher was nearly in tears, just wishing he would make up his mind.

He had talked about bringing him, locking him in his office or having him work, but was worried about the Irish showing up, not to mention Beecher was still too bruised to work. As of now they might not have even known it was Vern. The other side of that was somehow keeping him at the apartment, tying him up… locking him in. None of the options were good. Neither was happy, and if that was the case Beecher knew that it would be him that lost out.

“What do you want Beecher?”

“Let me go.”

“I… to what? Let you go to fuck that Irish prick and do drugs? Is that what you want?”

He didn’t think so, but it was what he knew. He moved backwards until he pressed into the corner, shaking his head. “Whatever you want Sir.”

Vern nodded like that made complete sense and he moved forward to grab Beecher’s arm, pulling him along. “Okay, then you can come with me.”

“What if Colin sees me?”

“Like I’m scared of some mick.” There was something comforting about that, about how much confidence Vern had, and he let himself be pulled along. 

“I… I have to work?”

“No, just… I’ll just keep you with me if you behave yourself, you got it?”

Hesitantly Beecher nodded, he was having to fight his body’s reaction to the words. Had to resist relaxing, had to resist trusting the other man. Because he knew better. Vern was dragging him towards the bedroom he had slept in the night before, and no warnings were going off for him and he didn’t know if that was because he was giving in or because he really didn’t think Vern would do anything. 

“Get dressed.”

“In what?”

“In whatever you want, I don’t care.”

He glanced at the duffel bag and at the floor and at the ceiling and-

“Beecher.”

“Work clothes?” 

His voice lilted up, it was a question and even though he stared at the floor he still could see Vern move forward before pausing and then moving away again. When Vern’s voice came out it held a note of finality. “Yes, work clothes.”

Anxiety uncoiled from his stomach as the decision was just made for him and he headed into the room, pushing the door shut behind him as he went about getting changed. He pulled out the tight jeans, the skin tight tshirt that he only wore when he was going to work. Vern had said that he didn’t have to work, but he wasn’t sure how he would feel walking into the club in regular clothes, actually if the people that were normally there saw him they probably wouldn’t like it and it might hurt his chances the next time that he was working to make good money. Of course he didn’t know if he would ever work again. He didn’t know anything.

It hit him hard, the differences between prison and real life. This was so much harder, freedom wasn’t something to win or strive for, it was an oppressive weight on his shoulders that at one point in his life he had toted around like it was a prize. Now he just wanted it gone, wanted to wake up and be told what to do and where to go and that was that. He had that with Colin, with Ryan and dammit he should have it with Schillinger, so why didn’t he?

There was a rap on the door, “Come on Toby, we’re already late.”

“Sorry.” He finished getting dressed and grabbed for the door, subconsciously picking up his speed. When he stepped out Schillinger was RIGHT THERE just like he always was, it was like the man had no idea what personal space entailed, but Beecher didn’t back up.

“I’m ready.”

Vern glanced at him, up and down, and his face was unreadable as he turned on his heel and headed to the door, confident that Beecher would follow him. And why wouldn’t he?

Beecher didn’t talk as they moved to Vern’s truck, climbing into the passenger seat without having to be told. Vern followed him around, but really he should know that Beecher was so beyond doing anything else.

He buckled his seat belt, and a small part of his brain recognized that nothing smelled like urine, so it must have been cleaned. Vern slid into the seat next to him and he leaned that way a little, any port in a storm he supposed.

Again he found himself thinking that he should pay attention where they were going but he spent his time shooting glances at Vern instead, trying to understand what was going on. Eventually they pulled into the parking lot for the club and Beecher made no attempt to move until Schillinger told him what to do.

Vern moved to his side, again, and opened the door for him. He sat there looking at him until Vern reached over and unbuckled his seatbelt. He really thought it was going to turn into a battle for each thing he had to do, but Vern wasn’t as dumb as he remembered and seemed to have finally caught on. Vern grabbed his arm and practically lifted him out of the truck, leaving him to stumble when his feet hit.

There was no worry of falling though because Vern kept the tight hold as they moved towards the building, and Beecher found himself glancing around, looking for Colin. When he didn’t see anything out of the ordinary he turned his attention back to Schillinger and realized that he was doing the same thing. Without really giving his body permission he was relaxing against Vern, because yea, at the very least he knew he was safe from everyone  _ else _ when he was with Vern.

It was before the club opened so they went around the side door, Vern letting go of him to rifle through a set of keys before he found the one he wanted and unlocked the door. He shoved the keys in his pocket and pulled open the door, automatically reaching out to take Beecher’s arm again. 

Beecher had been in the club more times than he could count, 4 or 5 days a week, every week for months, but it felt different walking in being led by Vern. He could feel people looking at them, staring, wondering and he flushed when he realized exactly what they would think was going on.

He tugged on his arm, uneasy now with letting Vern have such an easy familiar touch, but when the fingers tightened he relented. He had already made it pretty clear that he wasn’t going to fight and this was a silly thing to decide to take a stand on.

From the corner of his eye he saw Taylor watching them and he tugged on his arm again, hard enough that Vern looked at him. He looked away immediately, at the floor, at anywhere other than Vern and hunched his shoulders. “I’m going to go over with Taylor.”

Vern was eyeing him, he knew it without looking and he felt more than saw Vern look up to where Taylor was, like he was deciding if he was willing to let Beecher go that far. “Okay. If you see Colin...”

“I’ll come scampering back. Promise.” Somewhere under the words there was a snark, not enough for Vern to call him out on, but he knew the tone all the same. It was his Oz snark, obedient enough to not get smacked for, but still that underlying sarcasm he didn’t seem to ever be able to get rid of.

Vern’s response was to let him go, but grab his hair hard as he started to walk away, forcing him to look at him. Beecher cringed, that was such a more intimate touch than just grabbing his arm, but he didn’t try to pull away. He knew better, oh he knew so much better. Vern eyed him, “It’s not a fucking game. I know you think that mick will do anything for you, but if you aren’t bringing in money for O’Reily he will just as easily have you killed.”

Well, Beecher wasn’t really sure he believed that but he nodded dutifully like he was supposed to and when Vern finally let go he headed towards Taylor, his lips in a tight line. Absentmindedly he touched his hair, fixing it as much as soothing the ache from having it pulled so hard. 

“Toby, where have you been?”

He tilted his head and tried to think how he should answer. He looked back at Vern, already doing his thing to get the club ready to open and not even looking at him. He turned his attention back to Taylor, “I’m staying with him. Colin and I had a fight and we...” He trailed off, not sure what to say.

Taylor supplied it for him though, “You guys broke up?”

“No, we...” Wait, did Taylor really think that him and Colin had been a couple? Taylor was looking at him with big eyes, naive and sweet and finally he shrugged his shoulders and motioned at the bruises on his face. “Colin did this.” There, he didn’t lie to the other, but he watched the look of understanding crawl over his face.

Taylor glanced at Vern, “You’re with him now. I thought you guys... I mean before when you saw him...”

“I’m just staying with him until I can figure out what I’m doing.” Taylor nodded as he got ready and he seemed to realize that Beecher was just standing there.

“Are you working?”

Again he motioned at his face, “Not like this. Schillinger just thought... I mean it seemed like a good idea to stay here so I wasn’t alone at home.” He was butchering what he wanted to say, he knew that he was, but Taylor seemed to be taking it in stride.

When the club opened and people started coming in, when Taylor had to go get ready for his dance Beecher took a deep breath to calm himself and headed back to Vern. He was leaning against the bar, watching the crowd and not the dancers, like any good floor manager and Beecher pulled himself up on a stool next to him.

Vern only glanced at him for a second before looking back out across the floor. There was no sign of Colin, and well, maybe he thought that Beecher wouldn’t be at the club because he knew he couldn’t work all bruised up. Or he thought Beecher had run, and that thought made him panic a little because he could imagine the rage he would meet if he ran into Colin when the other thought he had planned the whole thing.

“You okay?”  
He jumped when Vern spoke, and he was going to snap at him, when he realized why the other had asked. He had pressed up nearly flush against Vern from where he was sitting, the thoughts of Colin subconsciously pushing him to seek out the safety of his new owner and he let out a sigh. 

Vern knew all his sighs. His put upon sigh, his annoyed sigh, his embarrassed sigh, but this... this was a new sound. “Beecher?”

“Just... no, I’m okay. Sorry.”

Vern’s mouth twisted like he was unhappy but he didn’t push, and for all the build up to him coming with Vern, for all the arguments they had about what to do with Beecher, it was wildly anti-climatic. He asked the bartender for a rum and coke, and watched them glance to Vern first, who nodded without really looking away from the floor. It irked him that they were asking Vern for permission, he wasn’t even working for Christ’s sake.

The drink was good and he idly poked at it with a straw, not paying attention to much. Actually, kind of bored. It’s why it took him so long to catch on when Vern’s entire body tensed and he moved so he was blocking Beecher. The first thought he had was he was annoyed, because he didn’t really need to be staring at Vern’s dumb back, but then he saw the same thing he did. Colin had entered, glancing around curiously, and not at all looking like someone that was going to start a fight.

Honestly, hidden behind Vern, Beecher wasn’t very afraid and he poked at an ice cube with his straw, “What are you going to do?”

Vern glanced at him and despite that a fight might be brewing he took time to look annoyed, “Don’t worry princess, you sit there and drink your drink. I’ll take care of it.”

Beecher chuckled at that and stirred his drink again, “That’s what you wanted anyways, wasn’t it?”

“You couldn’t even begin to understand what I want.”

There was no time to respond to him because Vern was on his feet, moving towards Colin. He hadn’t told Beecher what to do so he stayed where he was, watching what would unfold. Not that he was really worried about the outcome, unless Vern handed him over he wouldn’t leave with Colin. Besides the ample security around the club, Vern could take the other any day, even if he was a bit beyond his prime. It was such a matter of fact thought in his head that Beecher was annoyed by it.

It really should be a bigger deal, he should be worried or upset... hell he should be trying to run to Colin and get back the life he had but instead... instead he sat there and sipped his drink. He was starting to think maybe he was in shock, though that was probably being generous. Maybe he was just finally so broken there was no coming back.

Colin’s hackles came up when Vern came into view, but it was clear he hadn’t seen Beecher yet, and vaguely he wondered if he should hide. Vern hadn’t told him too though, and now... now he was giving in to that mentality completely and if Vern didn’t tell him to then he would stay right where he was. 

Vern was motioning at the door, clearly telling him to leave and Colin was arguing with him, though his face still had a touch of concern. Beecher imagined that maybe he was telling him someone took Beecher, trying to get the other to help, maybe he was even... Colin’s eyes strayed to the side and fell on him and suddenly Beecher knew exactly what he was thinking.

The confusion only lasted a second and then there was wild rage as Colin tried to push past Vern. Vern pushed him back and moved to get in his way, and yes, it seemed to sink in that Vern was the one that had ... liberated Beecher from him. That seemed like a good word. He’d had enough to drink that he raised one hand, waving cheekily at Colin.

Even across the club he heard the other man swearing, threatening, but he only asked the bartender for another drink. This level of calm was not normal, something was really wrong, but he just couldn’t bring himself to care. What finally did make it through his numbness was that Colin would leave and call Ryan and tell him he was with Vern and that thought made his heart ache. 

He was on his feet moving towards the ruckus without meaning too, and even Vern’s glare, so clearly telling him to get the fuck back, did nothing to stop him. He wasn’t dumb enough to get with in arms reach though. “Colin.”

“After everything I fucking did for you, you ungrateful fucking bitch!”

The other security had moved in closer to him, waiting for Vern’s word to probably drag him out, but Vern hadn’t given it yet. Beecher briefly entertained the thought that it was for his benefit. He looked at Vern and then back to Colin. “I didn’t ask him to do that.”

Vern’s eyes jerked to him, hands raising but he kept talking before too much rage could be directed at him, “But I’m not going back. You ...” He didn’t know what he wanted to say. He wanted to say that Colin was going to force him to fuck, that Colin had beat the shit out of him, but instead what he heard finally come out of his mouth was just more crap that had been beat into him at Oz. “You’re not a boss, why would I fuck you?” He glanced at Vern and bit his lip before he muttered, “You couldn’t even protect me from him.”

Whatever Colin had been expecting this clearly wasn’t it and his voice held a panicked edge and Beecher wondered if Colin didn’t want to tell Ryan how badly he had fucked up. “You don’t have to work here Beecher, I shouldn’t have... Ryan had said...”

“Yea, I know.” He didn’t wait for anything else, not even a glance at Vern, before he turned and headed back to the bar. He stopped there long enough to grab his drink, and then kept moving towards the back office. He didn’t want to look at anyone anymore, he didn’t want to hear them. He didn’t want to do anything but curl in a ball and accept that his life was completely out of control. 

Man, he could really use a hit.


	9. Chapter 9

When Vern finally came looking for him he found him curled up on the floor between the couch that was in the office and the wall. It had seemed like the safest place and he curled up tight, his arms around his legs and his head on his knees.

“Beecher?”

“I’m fucked up.”

“Yea, you are.” Vern moved closer and sat down on the couch, not too close though. “We all are. It doesn’t have to stay that way though.”

Beecher turned his head to the side, resting his cheek on his arm so he could see Vern. “You think you can fix this in any way? You think there is anything to go back to Vern? Because you and Oz beat everything out of me.”

“I know.” If he was expecting some great speech from Vern he didn’t get it. The other man just sat there for a while before he sighed. “I need to get back out there. Just stay in here, okay? Let me know if you need anything.”

“What happened with Colin?”

Vern had started to get up and his mouth quirked suddenly, “Concerned?”

Beecher didn’t know how to respond to that, but finally nodded. “What happened?”

“Once he realized that you weren’t going to leave with him, he left. And I’m pretty sure the boys made sure that he understood he shouldn’t come back.” When Vern had stood up he had moved closer to Beecher, and his hand came out to touch Beecher’s face and they were both surprised when he didn’t pull away.

“He looks a bit like he matches you now.” Vern tilted his head, “Does that make you feel better? That he got the shit kicked out of him?”

Beecher nodded because fuck, he wasn’t a good person and he was tired of pretending like he was. Yes, Colin had beat the shit out of him and a part of him was gleeful that he had gotten it back. When he spoke it was muttered into his knees, “I don’t want to be happy about it though, I’m not that kind of person.”

“Well sweet pea, it sounds like maybe you are.” He gave him a weighted look, “And sometimes you have to accept that if you want to change.”

Vern didn’t wait for an answer, just left the office and shut the door behind him leaving Beecher with his thoughts. What did he mean, why was he even trying to help him if he thought that he was a bad person? At this point Beecher was starting to consider that maybe Vern really was trying to help him.

It would have been easy to fuck him at any point when he had been at his apartment. But he hadn’t, in fact he had seemed disgusted by the very thought of it. Which, of course, as unreasonable as it was did nothing for Beecher’s self-esteem. Which well... the way things were going it would seem more fucked up if things started going the way he expected. 

Beecher sat there while the music started, and after a while he had to move. He wasn’t used to being so still for so long. Vern had told him to stay in there, but he was sure it would be okay if he went out as long as he found Vern first. That sense of irony shoved its way back up but he pushed it back, he was done fighting for the moment.

As soon as he opened the door the club hit him like a slap in the face. Dark, loud, full of questionable men, and he must have been hiding away longer than he thought. Most of the eyes were on the stage where there was a dance going on, but he scanned along the wall until he found Vern. He was surprised to see Taylor tucked up next to him, a grin on his face as he talked, and Beecher hesitated before heading over. 

He was only halfway there when someone grabbed his arm, spinning him around. It was one of the regulars and he smiled out of habit, told him that no, he wasn’t working tonight. Brushed off with a shrug when they asked what happened to his face. He tried to step away but they still held his arm and he leaned forward, resigned to staying there a bit longer. They weren’t doing anything, weren’t touching him more than the hold, and he was sure he could wait it out. 

“Get your hands off him. You know there is no touching.” Vern grabbed Beecher’s other arm and yanked him away violently, his arm pulling out of the man’s grip as he stumbled against him. He was too surprised to react much, and he was sure the look on his face was matched on the other man’s.

“I was just talking to him.” The guy, Roger Beecher thought, seemed to realize something else. “He said he’s not even working.”

“It’s fine.” He tried to push Vern back, one hand on his chest, but cold eyes turned to him and his hand dropped, and when Vern kept looking at him like that he slid his hands behind his back. Vern seemed satisfied with that, because he only glanced at the man before tightening his grip on Beecher’s arm and pulling him towards the wall. Taylor was nowhere to be seen.

Roughly Vern shoved him against the wall, nearly knocking the wind out of him, and he could only stare at him. Finally his mouth managed to get around a few words, “What the fuck was that?”

“I didn’t realize you would rather me let guys paw at you.”

“No one was...” He trailed off and licked his lips, “He was just talking to me.”

“I told you to stay in the office.”

It overlapped with his memories, being told to stay in the pod, always stay in the pod even if it was for his own damn safety and he found himself snarling out, “You don’t own me. I can leave the damn room if I want.” He stayed against the wall though and Vern eyed him up and down before snorting and leaning against the wall next to him. 

Being ignored was almost worse and he glared at the side of Vern’s head, willing him to respond. To do something. He didn’t though. It was like Beecher just faded into the background as Vern watched the room, keeping an eye on everyone.

Beecher crossed his arms over his chest and huffed out a puff of air. “You don’t even like gay guys.”

At that Vern did look at him, “I’ve changed Beecher. I don’t care who anyone fucks, I’m just doing my job.”

“Yea, sure.” Another few minutes passed and he couldn’t keep his mouth shut, “That’s fair then, you’ve fucked more guys than most of the people here.” Yup, that must have been the right button to push because he felt Vern’s entire body tense next to him, but when he turned to look fully at him it suddenly escaped him why exactly he was trying to piss the other off. 

“Not you though, right? You’ve fucked more. What does that make you?”

Beecher’s mouth worked, because he didn’t have an answer. For some of them he’d say he was a rape victim, for some he’d say he was lonely. He never called himself gay. He just... he shifted and looked away at the ground. Vern seemed to still be waiting for an answer so he muttered out, “I don’t know.”

“Can you go five minutes without trying to start shit? Or go back to the office.”

“Sorry.” He wanted to hold on to the fact that he had been friendly and non combative until Vern had literally dragged him away from someone. He was never going to be able to work here again. Wait, why was he upset about that?

“Hey Schillinger.”

“What Beecher.”

He waved his hand at the people in the club, “They think you’re fucking me with the way you dragged me away. You really want them to continue thinking that?”

“I don’t care.”

“Well you could...” He trailed off when he realized what Vern’s answer had been, and he looked him over and he didn’t even seem to be lying. “You’re okay with that?”

“What do I care what they think Toby? It’s just a job. They can think whatever they want.”

Vern was suddenly moving, and Beecher flinched thinking he was gonna get hit, but Vern was only moving across the club, wagging his finger in someone’s face and yelling. Just... doing his job. It was too much and Beecher headed back for the bar, grinning when a drink was slid over to him before he even got there, the girl behind the bar giving him a wink. 

That was where he spent the rest of Vern’s shift. He could see the big man occasionally glance at him to make sure he was still there, and expected to get told to knock off the drinking, but that never happened. He lost count of the drinks at some point, and it felt a little like old times, and when someone sidled up to him he only leaned into them and gave them a grin.

Across the room Vern was dealing with a drunk customer when Taylor was suddenly near him, trying to get his attention. He fought down the urge to tell the little bitch to get away from him, he had to remember what he was supposed to be doing, but couldn’t tone down the anger in his voice. “What?”

Taylor didn’t seem thrown by the tone and Vern wondered how many people talked to him like that. It didn’t matter, he wasn’t his problem, no, his only problem was... and he had a good idea what Taylor had come to get him for. It was confirmed even as he watched, “I just wanted to let you know that Toby is pretty drunk and... well...”

And well indeed. Currently Toby had his face attached to some guy, practically in his lap at the bar and even from across the room he could see him grinding hard into the man. Vern considered maybe just letting it go. He wanted to help Beecher, not just for the other man’s sake but for his own, but maybe it just wasn’t worth it.

“He’s a big boy.”

“He’s drunk.”

Vern rubbed a hand over his face and shot Taylor a dirty look before he stalked over to the bar. He had already set off the other man once tonight by intervening, maybe he would feel a little more grateful if he waited to let the other man get fucked by some guy, let him remember what exactly Vern was protecting him from. 

“Beecher.”

If Toby heard him he didn’t act like it and he had to force down the urge to hurt someone. Specifically dumb ass lawyers that can’t even take care of themselves. “Beecher.” There, he had used the tone he used with prags, had used with Toby a million times before and he waited for him to jump to attention, to turn those big sad eyes to him, but... but nothing happened. Except that one of Beecher’s hands had disappeared between him and the other man and the man pulled away from his mouth to moan.

He watched in shock for a while, for too long, before he moved forward. “Beecher!” He was close enough to be touching him and it did finally make it through. Beecher pulled away from the man, bleary drunk eyes turning to Vern. “Sir?”

He barely managed to get the word out, slurred, and before Vern could answer the man was grabbing his face and pulling him back into the kiss. 

All thoughts of letting Beecher simply learn a lesson flew from his mind as he strode forward, outraged. He grabbed the man and yanked him off the stool so hard he hit the ground, reaching out automatically to steady Beecher. The man was scrambling to get up and Vern pointed at him, “You are drunk and disorderly. You can leave on your own two feet or we can make you leave.”

Maybe he sounded meaner than he remembered, or maybe not everyone wanted to fight because when the man finally got to his feet he was out the door without even a glance at Beecher. Who was just catching on to what happened and had turned to Vern. He braced himself for a drunk tantrum but Beecher only pressed both hands against his chest and leaned in to him, catching him off guard with an open mouth kiss.

It only lasted for a second before Vern jerked back, knocking Beecher off balance, and he was only just able to catch his arm to keep him from hitting the ground face first. “Fuck!”

He tightened his grip on Beecher’s arm until even drunk he still cried out in pain and dragged him towards the office. He snagged Taylor, who had been watching from the sidelines and asked him to grab a pair of the cuffs and bring them to the office.

No one got in his way as he shouldered the door open hard enough that it slammed into the wall, making Beecher jump and cringe away from him. He didn’t relent until they were to the couch in the office and shoved Beecher down hard on it. He landed awkwardly and tried to right himself but a finger in his face when he tried to stand up was enough to keep him there. 

Whether the adrenalin was overcoming the alcohol or something else now there was fear on his face, eyes tracking Vern as he paced angrily around the room. 

“Hey, Boss-”

Vern grabbed the cuffs from Taylor and shoved him out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him, leaving him and Toby alone in the office. 

“Sir-”

“Shut up Beecher. For the love of God shut the  _ fuck _ up.”

He took a moment to calm himself before he moved in front of the man currently huddling in a ball in the corner of the couch. It made him pause, because Beecher looked terrified, and he took another deep breath. “What the fuck was that?”

“I can blow you.”

Schillinger’s breath came out in an annoyed huff even as he was shaking his head. “I don’t want you to touch me you dumb whore. Give me your left hand.”

Beecher stared at him, and he watched him glance down to Schillinger’s crotch before back up. “I can-”

“Give me your hand. Now.” Each word was bit out, cold and calm and Beecher’s hand automatically shot out, trained to that tone. 

He snapped the cuff around Beecher’s wrist and ignored when it seemed like the other perked up, interested. He still had a few hours of work and he was over this. The other handcuff he snapped around the arm of the couch. 

“Hey!”

Beecher’s voice was shrill, panicked as he realized what had happened. He was too drunk to react right and Vern watched him yank at the cuffs a few times before big eyes looked up at him, welling up with tears. 

Vern had the overwhelming feeling, again, that he was fucking things up. He knelt down in front of Beecher and grabbed his face, “I need to work. You need to stay here, this will keep you here. I will come get you when you’ve sobered up a bit, okay?”

“Please.”

“You’re fine.” He pressed his shoulder back until he was lying awkwardly on the couch with one arm above his head where it was cuffed. “You’re drunk. Try to go to sleep. I will check on you in a bit.”

A blank stare was all he got so he headed to the door but just before he reached it Beecher spoke up, “I kissed you. I thought you’d kiss back.”

Vern’s back was to Beecher and he went over how he could answer that, what he could say, but in the end he just opened the door and headed back into the club.


	10. Chapter 10

Beecher groaned as he woke up and turned onto his side. Or at least, he tried to turn on his side. He came up short when his hand wouldn’t move and panic hit him when he realized it was cuffed to the side of a couch. He wasn’t sure where he was at first or what was happening and he pushed himself up as much as he could, huddled around the arm rest.

“Glad to see you’re up.”

He snapped his head around, eyeing Vern sitting in his chair at his desk, his feet up on it, looking calm and relaxed. It came back to him quickly and instead of answering he looked around the room and then tugged at his hand. “Why is this on me?”

A chair creaking told him that Vern was getting to his feet, and his memories of what had happened were vague, but he remembered enough to not have much fight left in him. Vern reached the couch and looked down at him, and he could only huddle and keep his eyes averted. Vern reached down to grab his hand, holding it still while he uncuffed him.

As soon as he was free he pulled his hand in against his chest, rubbing his wrist. Vern didn’t back off though. “Do you remember at all what happened?”

He thought about lying, but there was really no point. “Yes. I think.” Oh, he wished he didn’t though. The man at the bar, his hand down his pants and then he had... kissed Vern, because of course he did. He shook his head, “Vern... sir...”

At his voice Vern stepped back, eyeing his face, before he moved all the way back to his desk. “You want to explain to me what the fuck it was all about then?”

“Not really.” He muttered it into his arm where he had his head tucked, afraid to even look at Vern.

“Beecher-”

“I don’t know what to say.” He didn’t realize till he swiped at his face that he was crying. This was who he was now, probably who he would always be. “I just... I need...”

“My shift ended a half hour ago. Why don’t we head home and you can get some sleep and we’ll talk about it tomorrow.”’

It was hard not to be suspicious of that. The man he had known went after every weakness like a vicious stupid dog with a bone, and when he didn’t it was only because he had something bigger planned. So he didn’t move from his spot and just stared at Vern, even when he got up and pulled his coat on. It took a few seconds for him to realize that Beecher wasn’t following him.

“Beech?”

“What are you going to do when we get home?”

Vern’s mouth twitched at something, “Sleep. In separate rooms.” Vern looked like he was trying not to laugh.

Toby felt his eyes narrow, “Then why are you laughing.”   


“Nothing. Listen, some of us have been working all night and not sleeping off a drunken bender, so can we just go? Please?” His tone was mildly annoyed, but he seemed fairly good natured but he still found himself rooted to the spot.

“I ...” He scooted forward a little and pulled his hands in tight against his chest. “I need help getting up.” It wasn’t what he had meant to say, and maybe he was still a little drunk. 

“Okay Beech.” Schillinger moved close, eyeing Beecher’s face. Slowly he reached down to grab Beecher’s arms and easily pulled him up to his feet. It flashed through his mind that Vern would always be bigger, stronger, and he had to fight the urge to pull away. Vern let him go as soon as he was on his feet and he swayed hard, and he knew that he could have controlled it, could have stood steadier, but as soon as he did Vern’s hand wrapped around his upper arm again. 

“Beecher, you okay?”

“Can we go home?” Vern’s grip tightened as they started to move and Beecher knew it was now or never and he just wanted to get it over with. “I’m sorry I kissed you.”

“You were drunk.”

It wasn’t that simple, he knew it wasn’t. He hated Vern, he did. But whatever was so fucked up inside of him, he just didn’t know. He leaned heavily into Vern, letting him wrap his arm around his shoulders. “You still are.” There was a snort of amusement at that, and Beecher let himself nod even though he knew he wasn’t nearly that drunk. 

The club was empty except for the cleanup crew, and nobody really gave them a second glance. Outside Vern practically hefted Beecher into the car when he tried twice to lift his foot up in the truck and didn’t make it. Once he was seated Vern grabbed his jaw and turned it towards him so he could see his face, “Did you take something when I wasn’t watching you?”

It was enough to get his attention, because he didn’t want to give him the wrong idea and it pushed a frantic answer. “No, no sir.” 

Vern eyed his face for a few more seconds before letting him go and buckling his seat belt, shutting the door before heading over to his side of the truck. Beecher touched the belt, it was nice to have someone take care of him like that. He tried to pull up his anger, the bitter resentment that was never far away but it was like it was locked away somewhere. He was too tired to fight it. 

Instead he turned his eyes to Vern, staring at him as he drove, trying to work out what he was thinking. He was used to doing his best to not think, and he was startled when Vern spoke up.

“You’re staring at me. Plotting my death?”

He averted his eyes, but only for a moment before he looked back at him. “No.” His voice was soft, and at that Vern glanced his way and he was starting to look actually concerned. 

“Beecher, what did you take?”

“Nothing.”

“You sure, because you’re acting like you got some bad shit from O’Reily.”

“Are you going to let me stay with you?”

That finally triggered something for Vern and Beecher watched as the casualness slipped away and Vern’s body went rigid. “No more talking, okay Toby?”

“Yes, sir.”

He leaned against the door and stared out the window. He wasn’t sure what he had said that upset him, but keeping his mouth shut was easy enough to do. They pulled into the parking lot and Toby was sober enough to get out on his own but he waited until Schillinger came around to his side, letting him unbuckle the seat belt and drag him out. He gave him a sharp shake though, “Come on Beecher, snap out of this shit. I’m not a fucking baby sitter.”

He nodded but still when Schillinger let go of him he reached out to grab at his shirt, twisting his hand in it tightly. Vern gave a halfhearted attempt at removing his hand but didn’t push that hard. Once they were in the apartment he stayed side by side with Schillinger. Finally he grabbed Beecher’s wrist and yanked his hand off his shirt. “Seriously Beecher, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

He shook his head, eyes trained on the ground, and was caught completely off guard when Vern slapped him in the face. He cried out and stumbled back a step, but his eyes darted up to look at Vern’s, teetering somewhere between surprise and anger. 

Vern was looking at his face and nodded, “There we go. Thought you might be gone for good.”

His words jumbled as he tried to respond to that and finally managed to get out, “What did I do?” In a wailing pitiful tone as he cupped his cheek, though the sting wasn’t that bad. He let out a small sob, “I was doing everything you said, sir.”

“I’m not fucking ‘sir’ Beecher, jesus. We aren’t in Oz.”

“You said to call you sir.”

“I didn’t...” Vern trailed off, maybe as he realized he had told Beecher too but he shook his head, “I’m just trying to help you here Beecher and you’re just getting worse.” He rubbed his head and looked thoroughly frustrated. “You keep calling this home.”

Beecher finally dropped his hand from his face and tried to listen to everything Vern was saying and he focused on that last sentence. “Do I have to leave?”

“Don’t you  _ want _ to leave Beecher?” He gave Beecher a push to the shoulder, tumbling him over onto the couch. “You asked if you can stay here? Are you going to be my roommate Beecher? My little stay at home wife? What the fuck do you think this is?”

He licked his lips, “What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know Beecher, I don’t fucking know.” The fight seemed to be leaving him and he dropped down on the couch next to Beecher and put his face in his hands. They sat that way in silence for a while before Vern looked up. “Do you know what life has been like for me since I got out of Oz?”

Beecher shook his head. A rebellious part of him wanted to say that he didn’t care, but he kind of did. He wanted to know that things had been shit for Schillinger, that it wasn’t only him that was fucking up his life.

Vern watched his response and then nodded. “I got out and tried to do things right. My family wanted nothing to do with me, my kids don’t want to see me. I couldn’t get a job because of my record. All my old  _ friends _ tried to convince me to join them, and when I said no almost everyone I’ve known my entire life turned their backs on me. Because I just wanted to do the right thing Beecher.” His body turned till he was facing him, “I fucked you up. I fucked a lot of people up. Until I saw you in that club I didn’t even think there was any way I could ever fix any of it. That for people like me there was just no...” He trailed off like he realized what he was saying, like it was too much and just shook his head again. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

He didn’t feel sympathy for Vern, that wasn’t there, but he couldn’t stop from feeling the familiarity of the situation. Yea, he understood what Vern was saying. He wanted redemption, Beecher had long since given up on ever getting it for himself. He wished he didn’t understand though, and he looked up to meet Vern’s eyes. “You think you’ll get that from me?”

Vern’s face was closing off, but he still shrugged. “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. The way you are, this is my fault. Is it so hard to believe that I feel bad Beecher? That I want to do something to help someone I hurt?”

Before Vern even finished talking Beecher was already nodding his head, “Yea, that is hard to believe.”

Vern’s head jerked up to look at him and he couldn’t help it as he cringed back, but there was no blow that followed it. Vern only stood up, looking like he carried a huge weight and dropped his hand to Beecher’s shoulder. A solid heavy presence that Beecher could admit, if only to himself, was comforting. “Well toBias, for your sake let’s hope you’re wrong. You get the couch tonight.”

Vern slammed the door harder than he probably needed to and Toby couldn’t help tensing. Only the kitchen light was on and it left a dim covering in the living room, and Beecher couldn’t help glancing at the shut door. He could just get up and leave. Vern clearly didn’t care if he stayed or not, whatever game he had been playing he was over it.

So what would he do? Go back to Colin, or maybe to a shelter. Maybe try to get some money and take a bus back home... except there was nowhere to go home to. Only Vern’s small shitty apartment. He was on his feet and halfway to the bedroom door when he stopped, and really thought about what he was doing. Vern had said no, but once he was in there, once he had his mouth around the other’s cock there was no way he would tell him to stop. That he would tell him to leave. He could make him happy, please him, and then he would understand what his place here was. Could wrap his mind around what he was doing. 

Except, that wasn’t who he wanted to be anymore. That wasn’t what Vern wanted from him, he was sure. So he stood there and stared at the door, not sure what to do. Finally he turned back to the couch, grabbing the blanket that had been hastily thrown over the edge and pulling it around himself as he curled up against the pillow. Vern had slept here the night before and like the bed it smelled like him, and no matter what he told himself he couldn’t be convinced to think that it wasn’t comforting. He had made the decision, he didn’t want to have sex with the other man. He didn’t think he did anyways, and so he hadn’t. There was a wealth of understanding in his decision, as he suddenly realized that he could make that choice. All on his own without anyone else telling him too. 

It wouldn’t change overnight, he still desperately longed to go in the room, to force the situation to fit one that he could understand, that he could put into a neat little category of what his and Vern’s interactions had always been.

He fell asleep thinking about it, not sure if he had made progress or not. 


	11. Chapter 11

The light in his eyes is what finally woke Beecher up. He opened his eyes and the window across from him had the curtains pulled back, letting bright sunshine directly on to his face. He groaned and pulled the pillow out from under his head and covered it, trying to go back to sleep.

“Come on Beech, time to get up.”

His shoulders twitched as he moved the pillow, following the command without too much prompting. He sat up and couldn’t help a groan, his head pounding. Blearily he looked around until he spotted Vern sitting at the kitchen table. He didn’t know what to say though, his tongue thick and cottony in his mouth. Hungover, embarrassed, nervous, unsure. Too many emotions going through him to pinpoint. 

“You are still here. I half expected you to have taken off.”  
Beecher glanced around before standing up and folding the blanket, putting it back on the edge of the couch and headed into the kitchen. There was coffee brewed and it smelled wonderful and he headed towards the machine out of habit, but it wasn’t until he was pulling open a cupboard that he realized what he was doing.

He whirled so he faced Vern and pressed back against the counter, hands half coming up, head turned to the side like he was expecting a blow. “I’m sorry, sir.” He hadn’t asked permission, he hadn’t acknowledged him, nothing. What the fuck was wrong with him?

“You’re fine Beecher, you can get yourself a cup of coffee.” When Beecher just stood there Vern raised an eyebrow, “Do you want me to get it for you?”

That spurred him into action, no, he didn’t want Vern doing anything like that for him. It wasn’t his job to get things for Beecher, he was being lazy. He was being selfish. Things that had been beaten into him until they were hardwired. He quickly got his coffee and then stood in front of the table, one hand on the back of a chair, but he was frozen there.

Vern sighed and turned to look at the paper he was holding, “I figured when you were still here this morning we had made some progress. I guess not, sit the fuck down Toby and drink your coffee.”

“I’m sorry.” He couldn’t help it, and this had nothing to do with his training. It had to do with that he managed to fuck up everything, he always did, and he couldn’t even get this right. If only there could be rules like there used to be, it was so easy to know what was okay and what wasn’t.

“You’re thinking too hard.”

He bit his tongue before he could apologize again. He might be broken but he wasn’t stupid and he knew that Vern didn’t want to hear it. He tried to remember what Vern had said when he woke up. He stared into his cup, “I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Did you think about it though?”

He swallowed hard, torn between answering in a way that wouldn’t get him in trouble and being honest. Honesty really had always gone over better with Vern. “I did. I thought about...” He swirled the coffee around in the cup, “I like it here.”

The bark of laughter from Vern almost made him spill his coffee. “Well, I guess it’s still progress. You like it here, huh? What do you like about being here?”

The questions were getting more complicated than he was used to having to answer and he hesitantly tried to figure out what he was supposed to say. “Because... you’re here?”

“And you just love spending time with me, don’t you Beecher?”

Finally the tone made it through to him, and he realized that Schillinger was making fun of him, teasing him, and he couldn’t help it as he frowned. “What do you want me to say, sir.”

“Anything but that.” He pulled a section of the paper away from the rest of it and pushed it over to him. “Here.”

Beecher took it automatically and glanced down at it but back up at Vern, waiting for him to tell him what to do with it. It took Vern a few minutes to realize that Toby was just looking at him. “Beecher?”

"What am I supposed to do with this?" Beecher glanced at it and realized it was job ads, and for a moment a sharp hope rose in him. "Sir?"

Vern gave him a sideways glance before looking back at his paper. "If you're too dumb to figure out what that is for you don't need it."

"You want me to look for a job?"

"Yea." He took a sip of his coffee and noticed that Beecher was still staring at him, "Unless you want to keep working at a strip club? You gotta work there till you find something else, there are bills and stuff but..." He trailed off and couldn't help but laugh at the look on Beecher's face. "I mean... do you like working there? I figured from the anxiety attacks and the blank horror on your face when anyone touches you that you don’t like it all that much."

"I don't." He looked down at the paper and it was overwhelming to think of looking for a real job somewhere, where he would have to run a register or file papers and he carefully set the paper down. "I'm good at working at Cuffs though."

"I guess." He shrugged, "If you want to keep working there you're free to. I get that you're confused by this but I don't really want to tell you what to do." Vern shrugged a little, "At least mostly. You kind of need someone to tell you what to do."

Well he couldn't really argue against that, he certainly didn't do all that great on his own. That thought made him sit back in his chair though, and really think about it. He had spent more than 30 years of his life taking care of himself. For a brief second he remembered the person that he had once been. The powerful lawyer, father, husband. He had laid down the law and he had run things, and anything that he had wanted to do, he had simply done. Nothing in life had seemed overwhelming or too much or scary and now he could barely get a cup of coffee without losing it. 

He let out a long sigh and finally answered, though it was only a mutter. Partially hoping that Vern wouldn't even hear him because maybe it was just a set up to make fun of him. "I don't want to work there anymore."

"Yea, I did get that. Glad to hear you say it." He reached out to tap the paper, "Take a look and see what you think. Though... it isn't easy Toby, not with a record. And you won't be making nearly as much as you were shaking that pretty little ass of yours."

Finally he was starting to recognize when Vern was just messing with him and he pulled the paper close to look at it. It made him realize something and he glanced up at Vern before he looked back down. He had been about to tell him that if he was going to find a real job somewhere he was going to have to get new glasses, but that somehow didn't feel right to say. Vern wasn't his dad. He couldn't help the snort of laughter through his nose at that, and buried his face closer into the paper when it made Vern look at him.

Something else occurred to him and he carefully looked up, "Bills?"

"Yea, you know what those are. The things people pay so they can live somewhere, eat food?"

He rubbed his hand against his thigh, carefully thinking his words out before he spoke, "Does that mean you plan on me staying here?"

Vern abruptly stood up and got another cup of coffee, taking long enough that Beecher hesitantly looked back down to the paper, and tried to be patient. Vern finally sat down but there was still no answer and he bit his lip, but couldn't bring himself to ask again. Nothing in the ads looked appealing, nothing that he could even do anymore. 

"We're going to see someone today."

The words out of the relative silence startled him and he sloshed the coffee over his hand, but quickly mopped it up with his sleeve, muttering apologies. It distracted him enough that he forgot that Vern had spoken but when Vern was looking at him expectantly. He mulled over what they had been talking about and realized what he was waiting for, "Where are we going?"

"There you go, take a little bit of interest in what is happening to you." He stood up and Beecher didn't have time to prepare as he was being pulled to his feet as well and pushed towards the bathroom. "Take a shower, get dressed. We have a bunch of stuff to do today."

"What are we doing?"

"Seeing someone. And you need some clothes. Right?"

He only had 2 or 3 sets of clothes, and they were mostly dirty now so he nodded, but something was bothering him. "I don't have any money."

Vern watched him for a few seconds before he seemed to realize and he patted his pockets and pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to Beecher. He took it and glanced down, his forehead scrunching as he looked at it. "What is this?"

"Your paycheck." The surprise on his face was almost too much, "I know you normally get it direct deposited, or that is what HR said anyways, but I thought you might want it in your hand. I don't know if that jackass has control of your account. Well, no, I'm sure that he does... why the fuck are you looking at it like that?"

The yelling snapped Beecher out of the trance he seemed to be in and he looked up, "This is how much I make?"

"Haven't you ever seen your own check?"

Beecher glanced back down at it, and there was anger, definitely anger building up in him. Ryan had set up the job, he had signed what he needed to sign and did the paperwork and all the money went into a bank account that he didn't even have access to but... well it was really on him he supposed. He knew how much he brought in tips, he hadn't expected to be making nearly that much in his paycheck too. 

"No, I haven't."

Schillinger picked up on the tone and gave him a wry smile. "Not what you expected?"

It wasn't, but not in the way that Schillinger was thinking. How could he think of looking for another job, without someone taking his money he'd be making... all the times that Ryan told him that he still owed them, that he wasn't paying down his debt and he knew it was bullshit. What else had Ryan been lying to him about. 

Without expecting it or being able to prepare for it he was crying, and he could only think to turn his head into the crook of his arm to hide it. Ryan was... he had been everything to Beecher and he knew that a lot of the things he did were for his own benefit but Beecher hadn't believed... he had really thought that no matter what Ryan was on his side.

"Beecher, you okay?"

"He lied to me. He's been lying to me."

"Who?" 

Hands were directing him to sit down and he went with them, didn't fight as he was pressed down on to the couch and Vern was sitting next to him. "Beecher?"

"O'Reily." He knew he sounded heart broken, or as close as he could get to it these days, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He looked up at Vern, and knew that he was begging him. Vern's eyes widened, and Beecher leaned forward before he could change his mind, before he could think better of it and he was kissing Vern again. Sober this time, with no excuse to fall back on.

Vern reached up as soon as their lips touched to push him away he suspected but he slipped his tongue in that dumb nazi fucker's mouth and lapped at it like a kitten with milk and the hands that had fisted into his shirt stayed there without pushing him away or pulling him closer, just holding him still. 

The kiss deepened when Beecher pushed forward into it, his mouth opening wider when Vern finally kicked into action, his tongue shoving into Beecher's mouth to take control of the kiss. To dominate him even in this. He wasn't sure when Schillinger ended up on the floor in front of him but he was pressed back against the cushion, Schillinger nearly on top of him.

He had a fleeting moment to think that he had been right, clearly the other man was as starved for affection as he was, and it hadn't taken that much to push him into it. Beecher expected to feel disgusted, or guilty, but none of those emotions came forward. Teeth gnashed against his mouth, splitting his lip and he was bodily moved so he landed on his back on the couch, laying the length of it as Vern's weight settled over him. 

A moan worked its way up his throat because he knew this, he wanted this. He spread his legs to give Vern room to fit between them and when the weight settled over his crotch he thrust up, whimpering. He was hard, and he was surprised by that, but he didn’t have much time to think about it as hands grabbed his hair yanking his head back and a mouth was on his neck.

Words were slipping out of his mouth but he didn’t know what they were, pleas or gibberish, he couldn’t be certain. Teeth bit down on his neck until it hurt and he squirmed under Vern’s weight, not sure if he was trying to get away or move closer. 

It didn’t really matter either way because he wasn’t going to dislodge him. So instead he reached until he found Vern’s shirt and tugged at it, trying to pull it off. Whatever Vern had been doing since he got out it hadn’t been slacking, and he was still as muscular as ever. Vern pulled away abruptly as Beecher kept trying to get his shirt and whipped it off. His own was yanked off roughly, snagging his ear, but then skin was touching skin and he cried out, scrambling to hold on to him.

No, he probably wouldn’t ever go back to girls, not even if things changed with him, with how he was living, because it was the bigger body over him that was revving him up. Being held down and plundered and he desperately pressed his hips up, trying to get more friction.

“Fuck, Beecher. This isn’t-”

He grabbed the back of Vern’s head, digging in nails painfully and pulled his head back into the kiss, ignoring what he was trying to say. He didn’t want to hear it, he didn’t want to acknowledge it. When Vern pulled away again he spoke up before the other could, “Fuck me, please, fuck me.”

Though the man above him hesitated he could feel him shudder and pressed together as they were he felt his dick twitch. Oh, he had forgotten how big Vern was, and his mouth went a little dry.

“We shouldn’t-”

“ _ Please _ .”

“Oh fuck.” Hands were at Beecher’s pants, grabbing the band and yanking them open so hard he was surprised he didn’t lose a button and then they were being pulled down his legs. He tried to help, tried to kick them off but he only made it worse and there was a low growl from Vern that froze him in place, a rough hand grabbing his hip and pinning him down, and he knew that well. Finally the jeans were off and then his underwear followed and Vern was back on top of him, fully pressed over him as they kissed.

He couldn’t stop the sounds he was making. His dick slid across the rough denim and then across skin and the difference in textures made him wild, unable to even focus long enough to think about what he was doing. Though he did know that Vern was still dressed and that wasn’t right, but he wasn’t going to make him stop kissing. He wasn’t going to stop him from doing anything.

His dick felt wet as it rubbed against skin, pre cum covering his tip, and he couldn’t remember the last time he had wanted something this bad. 

“Come on.” He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do but he didn’t need to know. Vern pulled him up to a sitting position and then nudged him until he turned over onto his stomach on the couch. Hands grabbed his hips and pulled him up so his head was rested on his arms, his knees precariously pressed as far apart as they could on the couch. 

It was the position that he suddenly realized that they had no lube handy, and he didn’t really picture Vern stopping to go get some, and maybe this wasn’t a good idea. A big hand, bigger than his own, rougher, was suddenly around his dick though, jerking him off with long strokes just this side of too rough. Vern had never done that, he’d never touched him back and Beecher pressed his face into his arms as he keened, raising his ass up higher, begging without words. 

Movement behind him and out of the corner of his eye he could see that Vern was trying to get his own pants off, cursing when the button wouldn’t go through but finally he had them and was shoving them down to his knees, pulling his cock out. Beecher leaned on to one shoulder so he could look back, and found himself unable to look away as Vern moved his hand over himself, swiping his thumb over the tip with his eyes closed. Vern’s other hand came to rest on his ass, grabbing hard enough to bruise and Beecher turned back around, waiting. 

After a bit nothing had happened and he whined, wiggling back, “Vern?”

“I don’t have anything to fuck you with.” Despite the words a thumb slid over his hole, pressing lightly against it and he got the sense that Vern’s hand was moving faster on himself. 

“ _ Please _ .” He said the word again, he didn’t care if it hurt. Maybe it was better if he hurt. Vern leaned over him and his cock rubbed against Beecher’s ass, dripping in precum and he realized how badly Vern wanted this. Wanted him. He would bet that he hadn’t had any since he had gotten out of prison and that was... four years?

“Suck.” His voice was a deep command as fingers pressed at his mouth. Obediently he sucked on the fingers, feeling Vern hard against him and twitching. He pulled the fingers out and immediately he pressed them inside Beecher. He wasn’t gentle, he never would be, but compared to how they had been together it was a world different. The fingers pressed in and out, the spit wasn’t enough but Vern scissored his fingers, stretching him out. 

There was a grunt behind him as the fingers pulled out and he was prepared for the pain, but instead he felt Vern getting up and moving. He pressed up to his knees, panicked, “Please don’t go.”

Vern had pulled up his pants enough that he could move, his cock jutting out and he looked aggravated. “You’re too fucking tight... I need to get something or I’m going to fucking hurt you.”

He tilted his head, but Vern didn’t wait for him to figure it out as he headed towards the bedroom, but what he was saying sunk in. He turned back and rested his head down and it was only a second before the bigger man was back.

Without preamble two big fingers slid in him again, some kind of slick on them, and they did more than just stretch him out. They pressed against that place inside, and after the fourth time they hit it directly Beecher started to wonder if it wasn’t by accident.

Or he tried to wonder, really he was just a whimpering mess, cock pressed up against his belly as he body shoved back on the fingers. When they pulled out this time he only had a second to beg before something bigger, much bigger, was pressing against him. Yea, Vern was still a huge fucker. Even with the stretching, even with the lube it hurt and he whimpered into the crook of his elbow, afraid that Vern would stop. And wasn’t that a hell of a thing to be worried about.

It was baseless though, Vern didn’t stop pushing until his balls were pressed against Beecher’s ass, filling him up until he felt like he was going to split open.

He had a few seconds to adjust, not enough, as Vern pulled out and slammed back in. Beecher grunted because it hurt, but his cock never softened, and after a few more thrusts Vern grabbed his leg and shoved it up further and he couldn’t help but wail when the new angle made Vern slam into his prostate. 

“Oh, oh please... please.”

Vern bit onto his shoulder as his hips pistoned, and didn’t give any verbal answer but he reached around to wrap his hand around Beecher’s dick, stroking him hard and that was all it took before he was coming. “Vernnnnn.” He cried out his name and gasped, feeling boneless as Vern grabbed his hips and kept moving. He expected him to come right away but the other was still going and the continued thrusts against his prostrate were suddenly too much.

He squealed and tried to wiggle away but there was nowhere to go and Vern’s hand that had been resting on his hip slid back to his dick, stroking it again.

“S-stop.” The word wobbled and Vern chuckled against his neck but didn’t stop.

It made Beecher really struggle, wiggling to get away or make him stop, and that seemed to increase Vern’s movements. It didn’t feel good but it didn’t feel bad and it didn’t take long until his cock was twitching like he might get hard again. He was just settling into that when Vern’s hand dropped away and he gripped his hips hard, shouting as he came. 

A few thrusts and then Vern’s weight dropped on him, pressing him down into the couch. His half hard on shoved against the couch and he gave an attempt to get more friction but then just gave up, listening to Vern breathe.

He was still in him and Beecher let his head drop down, wondering how badly he’d fucked things up now. He didn’t have long to think about it before Vern pulled out, and he whined in distress because it hurt. A hand dropped to touch him gently, comforting, and then Vern was pulling him up. 

“Well, fuck.” Vern could not sound more disgusted if he tried and Beecher tried to shrink away.

“Sorry...” He didn’t know what he had done wrong, not that it ever really mattered, but Vern only shook his head. 

“You didn’t do anything. Fuck Beecher, I don’t even like guys.” A hand cupped his face, thumb across his lips and when he raised his eyes to Vern’s face he couldn’t place what was there. “When it comes to you though, that never seems to matter.”

Well, it was good to know that he was the weak spot in Vern’s armor, and all he could do was stare blankly at the floor. He didn’t feel... bad about what they had done. He wanted to feel dirty but instead it felt like something that had to happen. Some kind of closure. Except now he was naked covered in his own cum, cum leaking out of his ass all over Vern’s couch, and he needed to move, to do something before he angered him.

“Sir-”

“Come on.” Vern had pulled up his own pants, covering himself, and he dragged Beecher to his feet and pushed him towards the shower. “Go shower. I’ll go next.”

“Sir?”

“Are you hurt?”

The change in discussion threw him and he glanced down at himself, but he didn’t see any blood and he shook his head. “No.”

“Good. I didn’t mean to ... Toby, go shower.”

“Yes, sir.” He didn’t wait to be told again, he wanted to get cleaned up, and once he was in the shower with the door shut he leaned against it, trying to think. He moved to turn the shower on quickly and got in, he didn’t want Vern to come looking for him, he needed a minute. The cum washed off him in the water and he scrubbed at his skin automatically while he tried to think through what happened. 

By time he was clean, he thought he might have a handle on what happened, on what he was going to say. As soon as the water turned off there was a knock on the door. 

“Toby? You don’t have a towel or anything. I got one for you, and your clothes.” He didn’t wait for an affirmative and the door opened and Beecher had to resist the ridiculous urge to cover himself up. Vern only dropped the clothes on the counter and handed him the towel before heading back out and shutting the door.

He dried off and got dressed quickly and opened the door only to find himself face to face with Vern. He averted his eyes, “Sir.” When Vern didn’t move he looked up at him, and Vern had a wry grin on his face. “What?”

“You’re different than you were in Oz.” He reached up to give Beecher a shove to get him out of his way, “It’s good.”

He moved out of the doorway and Vern didn’t give him another glance as he moved into the bathroom and shut the door. He stared at it before he headed towards the couch intent on cleaning up any mess that had been left there but it looked like Vern already had. He glanced at the bathroom, shower running, and with a sigh grabbed the newspaper. He sat down in a chair and winced at the twinge of pain in his lower half and rocked back to his feet, throwing a glare at the bathroom. It could be worse, he reminded himself, he had told Vern not to use anything. He’s lucky he wasn’t torn up all to fuck. He knew what that felt like too.

It seemed like he should do something when the shower turned off and Vern came out, but instead he just leaned against the table and looked down at the job ads, seeing if there was anything that would work. Vern came up behind him and he tensed but he only moved past him to the fridge and pulled out a drink.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“Then why aren’t you sitting down?”

Vern had no right to sound amused by that and Beecher shifted awkwardly as he glanced at him. He didn’t answer him but he did frown, and Vern only gave him a twist of his lips before moving towards him. He looked down at what Beecher was doing and nodded his head approvingly, “Good, I’m glad you’re looking.” He moved closer still and one hand reached out to touch Beecher’s shoulder, “I don’t know what that was.” His voice was hesitant, so unlike Vern, but he still couldn’t bring himself to look up. “You didn’t say no.”

There was a lilt in that, and for the first time he realized that even though he was smiling, joking, acting like it wasn’t important, Vern's entire body was tense. He sounded nervous now, Beecher had been so in his own head he hadn’t noticed it before but you didn't spend time with another man like he did with Vern and not learn his body language. He looked up from the paper and turned so he was leaning against the table, holding it with his hands and he glanced up to meet his eyes. 

“I didn’t say no.” He licked his lips, embarrassed, but forced the next words out of his mouth, “Did you think you forced me?”

“No.” Vern was shaking his head and stepping away, but he wouldn’t look at him. “I don’t do shit like that anymore. This isn’t prison, I’m not... I haven’t hurt anyone since I got out. You don’t believe it but I’m trying to be a better person Beecher. I never meant to fucking touch you.”

“Why did you?”

“You were crying and... you kissed me.” Vern gave him some space as he moved back to lean against the counter and he gave Beecher a serious look. “I’m going to tell you some stuff and if you make fun of me I’ll beat the shit out of you.”

“Being a better person now, are you?” He did nod though and gripped the table tighter, the threat hadn’t been necessary. Probably. Sometimes his mouth got the better of him even after all the beatings he had taken.

“I haven’t fucked anyone since I got out. I’ve just... When I’ve tried to be intimate with a woman all I can picture is the people I hurt and I just want nothing to do with it.”

His look was challenging and Beecher scanned over his thoughts and what he wanted to say, and he still kind of wanted to start shit with him but he knew that wasn’t going to do either of them any good. So instead he followed his example, his voice soft as he stared at the floor. “I haven’t been with anyone since I got out of Oz, besides giving a few blow jobs. Women don’t appeal to me and men...” He trailed off and his face felt hot and every internal warning system he had was screaming at him not to be vulnerable with Vern. “Men scare me too much if I have a choice.”

“If you have a choice...” Vern repeated the words and then there was a long sigh. “I shouldn’t have touched you Beecher. Fuck. You wouldn’t have said no even if you wanted to. This isn’t working, I need to find something else to do with you.”

He couldn’t argue that Vern was wrong, because he wasn’t. He hadn’t said no, he had wanted it, but if he hadn’t he still wouldn’t have fought him. He probably wouldn’t have even told him. “You want me to leave?”

“I’ll find a halfway house, or...”

“Or I can go back to Colin.”

“You can’t run off to some asshole mick everytime I kick you out of the house Beecher, it's a shit habit.”

“Why did you fuck me?”

“What?”

The question had caught him off guard and Beecher stood up straight and crossed his arms, “Why did you fuck me?”

Vern stared at him for a long time and Beecher pursed his lips. “It wasn’t just because you’re horny. If that was the case you would have jacked off or had me suck you or found someone at the club-”

“I told you, I don’t fucking like guys.”

“But you fucked me.”

“Because you were  _ begging _ me for it.” Vern slammed forward like a battering ram and grabbed Beecher by the front of his shirt and slammed him down on the table, his feet awkwardly flying out and Vern’s face was right in his. “Since I got out I don’t have shit. No crew, no underlings, nobody gives a shit what I say Beecher. When I saw you in that club... you still do what I tell you. You still stare at me like I’m your fucking god. You let me do whatever I want. Do you know how that feels to have again? After years of getting treated like shit to have someone back that does whatever you tell them?”

As Vern had talked it should have made him nervous but he understood. It made things less scary because what Vern was saying now... he didn’t understand Vern when he talked about redemption or caring about him or trying to fix mistakes, but he could wrap his mind around a Vern Schillinger that was so desperate to be in charge again he would do anything to get it. That he would take Beecher in if he could just have that power again.

Vern seemed to realize how hard he was holding Beecher down and he eased back but didn’t let him go. “I am helping you. I am fucking fixing this Beecher. I want to be a good person and I don’t know how to do that, but if I can  _ fix you _ that goes a long way, don’t you think?”

“And in the meantime you get someone that does what you say.”

Resigned Vern nodded even as he met Beecher’s eyes, “Yea, what do you want me to say. I’ve never been a selfless person. I wasn’t going to hurt you, I wasn’t going to... I just wanted to feel like I did back in Oz when I knew what the fuck to do. When it was easy.”

It was so close to how Beecher thought about Oz, it made so much sense to him so quickly he felt his body relax and he nodded. “I feel like that too. When I listen to you. I knew how things worked in Oz, out here...”

The only sound was the quiet tick of the air conditioning and Vern pulled him to his feet, straightening his shirt. “Then we understand each other. I won’t... we won’t do that again. I just want to find some kind of peace Toby.”

“Me too.”

It was the strangest truce he had ever had with anyone he was sure but for the first time since he saw Vern in the club it felt like something settled between them. Vern nodded once and then stepped towards the door. “Come on, we got a lot of stuff to do today.”

“Yes, sir.” From behind him he saw Vern’s shoulders tense, but he didn’t tell him not to call him that, and maybe for the moment it worked for both of them. He pulled his shoes on and waited for Vern to open the door and let him out before pulling it shut and locking it.

“Where are we going?”

“Bank, somewhere to get you some clothes.” He glanced sideways at Beecher and looked away when he spoke, “A counselor for you to talk to a bit.”

“A what?” He had stopped at the words but Vern kept moving and he had to scurry to catch up. “You want me to see a counselor?”

Vern wasn’t looking at him and when they reached the parking lot he immediately climbed into the driver's seat and Beecher just stood there at the door. The minutes ticked by and he just stared, not even sure what he was doing. He could open it, there was no reason he couldn’t, but it was like he was frozen to the spot.

When the driver’s door slammed shut he flinched out of his trance and tried to pull away from Vern when he grabbed him. “What the fuck are you waiting for?”

“I-” he shrugged and looked up at Vern. “I don’t know.”

He pulled open the door and lifted Beecher into it, doing up his seatbelt while Beecher watched him. Before the door shut her heard him mutter, “Just like having a little kid again.”

Well, he couldn’t really argue with that. Once they were in the truck and moving he brought up his question again. “You want me to see a counselor?”

“You need help. More than I can give you.”

“What am I supposed to tell him?”

“Her.” He glanced up at Beecher, “I thought you would feel... I don’t know. Safer with a woman.”

He nodded his head at that, surprised that Schillinger would even think of something like that. “What am I supposed to tell her?”

“I don’t know.” He rubbed his head without looking away from the road, “Whatever you are supposed to tell head doctors.”

He had hated seeing them when he had been in prison, one of the many useless fucking things that McManus made them do, and he didn’t know how this would be any better. “Do I have to?”

“Yes.”

He threw himself back against the truck seat, making a whining sound. “I don’t want to.”

“Well, I’m not asking.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and he wanted to explain what was wrong, but he didn’t know how to get his head wrapped around the words. So instead he made another sound low in his throat, pitiful and sad. 

“Quit whimpering like a kicked dog Beecher, jesus.”

“Sir...”

“For the love of... it is just talking to a counselor Beecher! You act like I’m trying to-” He choked off the words like he had swallowed his tongue, and Beecher had an idea of what he had been about to say but he let it go. Vern glanced at him while they were stopped at a light, trying to read his face, and something seemed to click. 

“You can tell her whatever you want, Beecher. She’s like a real... she won’t tell me what you say. It isn’t a trick.”

“Oh, should I tell her I’m bunking up with the man that raped me in prison? Sure lady, he’s right out in the waiting room, want me to get him for you?”

Vern only chuckled at that, and Beecher didn’t think it was really all that funny. “Hey, if that is what you want to do, go for it.”

Instead of answering he turned towards the window. Did he want to talk to someone about that? Yes. Maybe. Could he look a woman in the eyes and tell her about his disgrace, about how awful it had been. What would she even say to help him? He could tell her about the drugs though, he could still feel the empty space inside him that the drugs had filled. He spoke up, just a whisper, “Do you think she will help?”

“I do. More than me anyways.”

“Okay.” His stomach twisted but he nodded, “I’ll talk to her.”

“Good boy Beecher, you aren’t completely dumb. Who knew.”


	12. Chapter 12

Running errands with Vern was oddly domestic. Like it had been shopping with Colin, but this was different. They stood in line at the bank together while he cashed his check. When they handed him the money he had automatically reached out and handed it to Vern. For a moment Vern had shaken his head, but people were watching so he just took the money and shoved it in his front pocket. 

Relief flooded him at the action, he wouldn’t even know what to do with the money and he was just better off with Vern taking it from him. After that they went to the store where Vern growled small aggravated words at him and he stood listlessly looking at clothes. Colin had let him pick out his own clothes, the few bits he had, but he didn’t really like it. He didn’t care what he wore, though he wanted to ask Vern what he preferred, but that wasn’t an option.

So finally he had two more pairs of pants and a few t-shirts, and two hoodies. A pair of sneakers. They went through the line and everything was bagged up and then he simply stared at the bags until Vern rolled his eyes and grabbed them, heading out of the store. That actually made Beecher’s mouth quirk, because while the bigger man may think he was completely in control it was pretty clear that it didn’t take much from Beecher to get him to do things. 

Of course in Oz he had thought that too, realized that he could elicit certain behaviors or reactions from Schillinger... and he had a rather painful memory that reminded him that Vern was not blind to these things, just willing to ignore some of them. 

Vern opened the door for him and dropped the bags on the floor and then turned to face Beecher raising an eyebrow at him. It was almost like he had read his mind, and Beecher looked down before climbing into the cab of the truck. He shut the door himself and buckled his belt by the time Vern got in the other door. 

“You hungry?”

Beecher couldn’t help it as he laughed, the idea of them sitting in a restaurant together eating food, but he nodded. “Yes, sir.” He licked his lips, nerves making him shaky, “What time is that appointment.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

He started to nod, but what Vern had said earlier about taking an interest in his own destiny came to the forefront. “It’s my appointment.”

“Listen to that little squeak of a complaint.”

Beecher turned as much as he could face him in the truck and narrowed his eyes. He waited until they were stopped at a light for Vern to look at him, and did his very best to glare. His very best Oz eyefuck and Vern watched him. He didn’t look scared or nervous, no, he looked kind of pleased. Well fuck that too. “You keep telling me to stand up for myself and are a dick to me when I do. What the fuck do you want from me?”

“I’ve already told you that, Beech. Don’t be so dramatic.” He glanced at him again, “You learned that glare from me you know, you do it just like daddy.”

For a moment Beecher’s mind went blank with rage and then he was growling and launched himself at Vern, only to have the seatbelt pull him up short and drag him back into his seat, howling like a wounded animal.

He hadn’t reached Vern but it was enough to make the other man swerve the truck into oncoming traffic, cursing as he barely managed to get back in time. There were blaring horns and huffed breaths but then they were back straight on the road and all Beecher could hear was the blood rushing in his ears. 

Vern wasn’t looking at him, which worried him a little bit, he expected him to be yelling or hitting or doing anything but instead he had a white knuckle grip on the wheel and was staring straight ahead, lips just barely moving like he was talking to himself.

It was all it had taken for the moment of rage to have dissipated and Beecher was left feeling drained and scared and he wanted to apologize or explain himself before that silent fury was turned on him and he whimpered out. “Sir...”

“Shut up Beecher.”

His mouth snapped shut but he still stared fearfully at the other man, waiting for whatever was going to happen. The first opening they had to pull into a parking lot and Vern did, parking the truck towards the back where it was partially hidden from view. He put it in park and turned the truck off, letting it settle into silence. 

“Why did you just try to kill us?”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“Didn’t mean to doesn’t work here Beecher. You still haven’t learned to take responsibility for yourself.” Beecher’s mouth opened to protest but a glare from Vern and he quieted down again, “And don’t for one fucking second try to tell me this is my fault. I’ve taken blame for my part in what happened to you. I raped you, I beat you, I humiliated you. I did, that is the shit I’m trying to make up for. I didn’t shove drugs down your throat though. I didn’t get you drunk and have you kill that little girl, that was long before you met me. I didn’t make you blow your parole officer because  _ that _ was preferable over stopping doing drugs. I take blame for the things that I’ve done wrong, you need to man up and do the same.”

It wasn’t the speech he had expected to hear and he let his shoulders slump because he knew that Vern was right. He had made a shit ton of bad choices and some of those he could blame on others, a good chunk of those he could blame on the asshole sitting next to him, but in the end he still had been the one to do it. It was hard to accept though, to think about so he turned his head away. “I’m trying.”

“No you aren’t. You’re trying to play house with me, and pretend this is prison, and any time you get called on any of your shit you throw a hissy fit that any drama queen would be proud of. I’m trying to get you help and you’re over there crying because I don’t want to treat you like you’re my prag.”

“I don’t want to be-”

“Don’t you though? Isn’t that easier? To let someone else do the shit you don’t like so you don’t have to blame yourself?”

“You fucked me.”

“ _ We _ fucked. I didn’t rape you, I didn’t force you, you came on to me of your own free will, you were fucking  _ begging _ me, and I accepted and that is something that we both need to deal with too. I like fucking you, god fucking forgive me but it feels good. You wanted it as badly as I did.” Vern tilted his head to look at him, “You never got hard in prison with me, but you sure as fuck did on that couch. Did you get hard with O’Reily, is that it? Learned to like getting fucked up the ass so much that you beg for it?”

Well, actually that was kind of true. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say so he just picked at a thread on his pants, “I liked it with O’Reily, is that what you want to hear?”

“I don’t really care either way Beecher, but you need to take responsibility for it. Did you want me to fuck you?”

“Sir...”

“Did you want me to fuck you Beecher, yes or no?”

He thought about saying no, he thought about asking if he meant this time or all the times he raped him, he thought about all the responses and all the ways Vern could react but there was really only one answer. “Yes.”

“There you go. You ready to get something to eat?”

“You’re not mad I tried to hit you?”

“No.”

“You’re not going to punish me?”

“If I was going to punish you every time you pissed me off I’d literally do nothing else.”

He wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be a joke. Either way he didn’t respond though and settled into his seat waiting to head somewhere to get something to eat. 

  
  


They sat in a parking lot quietly, Vern giving him an expectant look. “Beecher?”

“Will you come in with me?”

Vern glanced at the building and back at him, “Into the waiting room.”

“In when I talk to her.”

Vern clicked his tongue and looked up, “Jesus, maybe I just don’t need to be redeemed at all. It can’t be worth this.” He got out of the car and to the other side, pulling Beecher out without much preamble. He kept his hand on his wrist as he dragged him towards the building, no sign of being gentle or caring that he was. 

He twisted to get away, tugging on his arm, but Vern wasn’t letting go of him. He thought once they reached the building he would give in or let him go, but he didn’t, and Beecher felt his face flushing as he was dragged past people watching curiously. Vern seemed to know where he was going and now Beecher was suspicious, because he was positive that Vern had not been seeing anyone for any kind of counseling. He knew it with every fiber of his being, so why was Vern so sure where this office was. 

They reached a door at the end of the hallway that Vern went into without hesitation, and inside it was dark like nobody was there, the secretary desk lightly lit but with no one sitting there. “Vern?”

“Shush.”

They were moving past the desk and into the back area and he couldn’t help the rush of adrenaline and panic. This was it, it had all been a setup of some sort, where was he. What was he doing there? All sorts of horrible images and thoughts spun through his head and he whimpered, tugging on his arm. “Where is everyone, what is going on?”

They came around a corner and there was a light on and Vern knocked on this door, just waiting for a heartbeat before he shoved it open. It was a good shove, making the door bang against the wall and Beecher was dragged in and shoved hard into a chair, his eyes on Vern even though he was vaguely aware of a startled looking woman sitting at the desk.

“Jesus Vern, you haven’t changed much, have you?”

Because he was watching Vern he could see his eyes narrow, his fists clench, and since it was directed at someone other than himself he followed where he was looking. The woman behind the desk looked like she was probably tall, blonde hair, blue eyes, and she looked every bit the Aryan that Vern was and Beecher had a sinking feeling. She was glaring at Vern and Beecher tried to shrink back in to his chair, hoping that he wouldn’t be noticed.

The action seemed to have the opposite effect though, as soon as he moved her eyes darted to him and he couldn’t help but wince at the attention. Her face softened instantly though and she spoke up, her voice soft and soothing. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re Tobias, right? You’re okay here, don’t worry.” Her eyes turned back to Vern and her voice dropped to a hiss, “Vern will wait outside.”

Vern looked like he had something to say to that, a low growl slipping from his mouth but he only turned to Beecher and reached out to touch his shoulder. The woman looked like she was going to protest it but as soon as he touched him Beecher relaxed, leaning in towards Vern like he would protect him from the ... nice non threatening woman sitting at the desk across from him. “Toby, meet Greta. My sister. Good luck.” 

He didn’t know if that was for him or her, but Schillinger squeezed his shoulder once and then headed out the door and Toby had to fight down the urge to beg him to stay. He shut the door behind him with a slam and then it was just the two of them. 

Beecher looked down at his lap, staring at his hands, waiting to see what she was going to do. “Are you okay?”

He nodded, but that was it. She tapped her fingers on the desk before moving to her feet and coming around so she was standing only inches from him like Vern had been. When she moved closer though, looking like she might touch him, he flinched away hard. “Please.”

She retreated quickly, putting her hands up and sat on the edge of the desk making sure that he had space. “Vern wasn’t kidding.”

Vern had said it was his sister, how could he expect him to tell this woman anything. She would tell Vern and then he would... well he wasn’t sure what would happen. She was looking at him like she expected an answer and he mumbled out, “I’m sorry.”

She only nodded like that answered some question for her and she went back around to her side of the desk. “Is Vern keeping you against your will, right now? He said that he wasn’t, that he was trying to help out someone he knew in prison, but I’ve worked with enough people to know the signs of what I’m seeing here.”

He shook his head. When she didn’t say anything he glanced up and she looked like she was waiting for more information. His mouth worked around his words a few times before he settled on some. “He’s helping me.”

“It looks like it.” She glanced down at the paper on her desk and Beecher wondered if it was about him. “You were in prison with him?”

“Yes.”

“You just got out?”

The questions made him uncomfortable and he crossed his arms over his chest, “A few months ago.”

“Toby, please try to relax. I won’t... anything you tell me is just between us. Vern said you wouldn’t go see someone because you are worried about telling them everything that happened to you, or that some of the things might not be... completely legal. So he asked for my help.” Her eyes glanced down at the paper again and her mouth tightened, “He’s never asked me for help once in his entire life, so I agreed to.” She was watching him and seemed to note his reaction. “That surprises you? That he would ask for help for you?” Beecher chewed on his bottom lip, but nodded. “You see where I’m coming from here? What exactly are you to him?”

“We were in prison together.”

“I know my brother isn’t a good person Toby, he says he is trying and I guess we will have to wait and see about that, but I know the kind of person he was. Were you one of his prison... he forced you to have sex in prison?”

His head jerked up at that, staring at her until she nodded. “Have you talked to anyone about this?” When he still didn’t say anything she pursed her lips, “Why are you with him now?”

“He’s helping me.”

“Have you been with him since you got out?”

“No.” He hesitated, “I met him at work.” He didn’t know how much she knew about Vern and he was testing the waters.

Her eyes widened a bit, “You’re a stripper?”

“Yes.” She was looking at him carefully and finally he realized that he had nothing to lose. He took a deep breath. “I was raped in prison. I got hooked on drugs. I spent most of prison high and having sex with ... someone else. I got out and kept doing drugs and started stripping because they told me I had to and then Vern found me.”

“Are you still on drugs?”

He shook his head again. “I stopped... a few days ago.”

“Recent. Did you have help with it?”

“No, they just didn’t let me anymore. I didn’t really have a choice.”

“Vern said you wanted to get clean, get a real job, is that true?”

“I don’t know.” The words slipped out before he could stop them and he glanced up, waiting for the disappointment, the disapproval. She was only just watching him though and he rushed to follow up, “I mean yes, Vern is right. That is what I need to do.”

“There is no right answer here Toby, you don’t need to answer in any certain way. You’re confused right? You’ve been through a lot of trauma, some of it recently, and it is normal to be unsure after that.”  
That didn’t feel like the right answer though and he shifted, uncomfortable, and glanced towards the door. Towards the way that Vern had gone. Greta followed his gaze and when he looked back at her she was frowning. “Why are you looking for Vern?”

Beecher shrugged and looked down at his lap. He knew he shouldn’t want to, that he shouldn’t need Vern when he was nervous. He was smarter than that, he understood Stockholm syndrome. He had a degree from Harvard for christ sake. Her voice told him everything he already knew, and he was sure it was on a personal level since it was Vern’s sister, that she was angry that he would need him. 

“Tobias?”

“That’s all I got to say.”

He was shutting down, he knew that he was, and he wasn’t sure he could stop it even if he wanted to. What had he been thinking telling her all that, she couldn’t understand any of it. She hadn’t been to prison. 

She set down the pen in her hand and leaned back for a moment before she blew out of a huff of air. “I’m sorry. I know that this is hard for you, it’s okay if, for now,” the words were twisted and bitter, “being with Vern makes you feel better. That is okay. I won’t judge you for that. Okay?”

He nodded because he was supposed to, but couldn’t help glancing at the door again, wondering how long he had to do this for. He wanted to go home. 

“Do you want me to get Vern?”

His head snapped to her and he watched her face before he nodded, “Yes, please.”

She got up and her movements were a little jerky but she went out of the room, leaving Beecher to sit there and wait. While he did he looked over her desk, and for a reason that he couldn’t quite put his finger on he couldn’t help taking the letter opener sitting there. It was small and metal and sharp enough that it would make a good shiv. He bent down and tucked it under his sock into his shoe and fixed his pant leg over it. He felt better having a shiv on him.

Two sets of footsteps approached the door and it started to open before it was pulled almost shut and then there was some sort of angry conversation on the other side. Her low tone was strange to him but the growly sounds of Vern’s words were all too familiar. He frantically glanced around the room, not sure what he would do if Vern came in and was upset with him. There was nowhere to go.

The door finally opened and they came in and Beecher’s eyes turned immediately to Vern, surprised to see him looking calm. Almost smug. Greta on the other hand looked furious. “Move over Beech.”

Obediently he moved to the next chair so Vern didn’t have to squeeze past him and Vern sank into the seat. He leaned closer to him, eyes still on him. He knew he was supposed to be doing what the lady said, working on getting better, Vern had been clear. But he had done a terrible job of it so far. 

“Sir?”

Across the desk he saw the woman twitch and Vern looked slightly less happy about that, “It’s okay Toby. You can talk to her.”

“Yea, because he’ll talk to me with you here. You told me he wasn’t that bad.”

Vern looked at him and made a face before he looked back to his sister, “He isn’t. He’s smart, you just got to... you know. Snap him out of this. Help him with the drug thing.”

“I think he needs to be helped with the rape and trauma thing.”

Beecher made a small sound, helpless and afraid because you didn’t say those kinds of things directly to Vern, but a hand dropped down on his leg patting it. “It’s okay Beecher, I told you. You’re fine. Go ahead and talk to her, next time we’ll try it with just you and her when you feel more comfortable.”

Beecher swallowed hard but nodded and looked back to the woman, and caught the fleeting glimpse of curiosity on her face while she looked at Vern. He licked his lips a few times before he tried to speak, “I don’t want to do drugs anymore, but it’s been... a long time. I was doing them to forget prison... and I was doing them to deal with the life I had outside of prison. Now what do I do?”

“What did you do before you went to prison?”

He rubbed his arm and gave Vern a side eye. Mentioning what he had been had never failed to encourage Vern to be crueler, to be rougher, like mentioning that he had such a prestigious job made Vern unable to resist putting him in his place. He looked back to the women, “A lawyer.”

Her eyes widened and she glanced down at her paper. Almost absent mindedly she asked, “What did you go to prison for?”

“Sir?” He still couldn’t say it, couldn’t admit it. He was too ashamed. 

“He got drunk and drove his car home and hit and killed a kid. The judge decided to make an example out of him.”

“Please let him answer.” 

Vern shrugged, “He doesn’t like to say it.”

Greta glanced at him before pointing a well-manicured finger at him, “You and I are going to talk about this later, just so you know. It’s disturbing that you know what he wants, and that he acts like this and I think it isn’t good for either of you. It’s severely fucked up.”

Vern coughed a little at that, a half laugh. “That’s very professional of you, I’m sure you’re putting him at all kinds of ease with your professionalism.”

“Like you even know words that big.” She made a motion to Beecher, “Did he teach you things like that when you were in together? I thought you came out a little less of a moron than you went in.”

Beecher wasn’t sure if they were teasing each other or really hostile, but he didn’t like it. Part of him was glad that he was at a place where it was obvious it wasn’t official, cold and clinical, and he’d take a therapist that acted oddly but was on the inside of what was happening than the other way around. They were glaring at each other and he turned to face Vern slightly, his eyes on the ground, “Can we go home now?”

“Sure Beech. I think we’re done for today. I just wanted you to come meet her. We’ll come back in a few more days, okay?”

He didn’t wait for Beecher to tell him it was okay, he just got to his feet, giving Greta a lukewarm goodbye before he headed out the door. Beecher hung back a little, because it felt rude to leave like that and he looked up to meet her eyes. “Thank you.”

She moved forward quickly, only hesitating when he flinched, and tried to give him a smile. “This was a little rough, but I really do want to help you Tobias. Please come back and we’ll try something different, okay? Will you come back?”

“If Vern says so.” Her face fell a little at that but he was already on his way out the door, scurrying after Vern. They left the building with little fuss and it wasn’t until they were in the truck that Beecher dared to speak up.

“That is your sister?”

“Sure as hell is. Bitch.”

He kicked at the floor of the truck for a moment, “Do I have to go back?”

“Yes.” Vern sounded annoyed as he felt.

“I’m sorry.”

“Yea, me too.”

The rest of the ride was in silence. 


	13. Chapter 13

They got back to the apartment, put away groceries, and Beecher quietly got to making dinner, even though Vern hadn’t told him to. Vern watched what he was doing and looked a few times like he might have told him not to, but in the end he just sat on the couch and turned on the tv. 

It was after dinner when they were sitting quietly on the couch that Beecher finally asked, “I’m supposed to be at work tonight.”

Vern took a second to look away from the tv at him but when he did his forehead wrinkled. “I’m not working tonight.”

Beecher just stared at him because he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say. He finally made a small movement. “Do you want me to call in?” Vern didn’t seem like he liked the idea of that and he made another helpless movement. “I can walk... or take a bus. I’m not sure where we are or how far it is.”

It seemed it finally sunk in and Vern frowned but shrugged, “I guess I’ll bring you to work.”

That would be fantastic, them showing up together on Vern’s night off, just following after him. He looked up and winced even as he asked, “I could just drive your truck if you didn’t want to go.”

Vern eyed him for a moment and then shrugged his shoulders. “Okay.”

“Okay?” He was too surprised to even check his tone. “You’re okay with that?”

“I told you Beecher, you can go if you want to. I’m not... I’m not forcing you to stay here. At first I was because you had to see, but you can make your own choice. I think you know I’m trying to help you, I think you know you don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“You’re not worried I’ll take off with your truck?”

Vern chuckled at that and looked back to the tv, shaking his head, “No, I’m not worried about that.”

“Why?”

“You wouldn’t dare Beech.” He did glance at him and gave him a stern look, but there was humor under it, “Don’t take that as a challenge. We’ll both be out on our asses if you destroy my truck and we have no ride to work.”

Beecher nodded and examined his hands while Vern went back to watching tv. “You really are trying to help me, huh?”

“Yup.” 

Beecher nodded and then leaned back against the couch, trying to pay attention to the show. Maybe things were going to be okay.

If he thought having Vern bring him in on his night off was going to cause a stir, was going to start rumors... why did he not consider what people would think of him showing up in Vern’s truck. It hadn’t even occurred to him that it might seem odd, or that him showing up like that would make people think that Vern was his boyfriend. He let him take his freaking truck, why did Beecher not think it through?

It started with the bouncer who gave him a smirk and raised eyebrows when he climbed out of the truck and headed towards the door. 

“Showing up in the boss’ truck huh? You sure must have made him happy, yea?”

“Shut it.” Though, he noticed, there was no ass grab when he moved past him. Maybe being the boss’ boyfriend wasn’t such a bad thing. He shook his head violently to get rid of that thought and pushed away the whole thing, because no one else had seen. 

His second mistake was thinking that the bouncer would keep his mouth shut. By the time he was in his outfit, ready to go out and dance all around him people were whispering, giving him looks. Some amused, some annoyed. Of course, they thought he was fucking the boss to what... get better hours? Better jobs?

One of the guys that danced there brushed past him, bumping in to him, and snarled out, “If I had known I could show up whenever I feel like it and all I had to do was fuck some meathead I would have.”

“I’m not fucking...” The words fell on deaf ears though and he glared at Taylor when the younger man grabbed his face and tilted it towards him to put on cover up. Oh, that was right, he forgot that he still had healing bruises. 

Taylor’s voice was sing song, clearly amused. “Don’t listen to them Toby, I know that you aren’t fucking him.” His voice lowered and he moved in closer, “Are you?”

“I’m not...” He trailed off, their little romp on the couch pretty fresh in his mind, but forced himself to finish, “I’m not fucking him. I couldn’t stay with Colin anymore, Schillinger is just... giving me a place to stay for now.”

“Hmm.” Taylor tilted his head this way and that, “Your lips are all swollen. Like you’ve been kissing someone. A lot.” Before Beecher could stop him he trailed fingers down the side of his jaw to his neck and pressed, surprising him when it hurt. “And someone left a hickey the size of Kentucky right here for everyone to see.”

He jerked away from him, sending him the best glare he could when Taylor only laughed and stumbled back a few steps. He didn’t have to ask, Taylor handed him a mirror to look in and yup, he was right. It wasn’t just a hickey. It looked like a god damn bite mark, red and bruised in the middle, and he was clearly marked as belonging to someone. He groaned, “How am I going to cover it up?”  
“Don’t. They will love it out there. Will make them think of fucking.” He nodded without really paying too much attention and Taylor kept talking. “So... if Vern didn’t give it to you who did?”

“No one.”

“Right.” Taylor didn’t push it any further than that, and Beecher didn’t know what to say. He could keep denying it all he wanted but he showed up in Vern’s truck, he had a hickey on his neck, he was  _ living _ with him. He wasn’t dating him, it wasn’t his boyfriend, but he wasn’t able to explain to these people what was actually going on. Not in a way that he could tell them that they would understand. 

Taylor was right, of course. While he danced it didn’t take his customers long to notice the hickey and there were cat calls and shouts, and he found himself glancing along the back wall looking for Vern. Who wasn’t there, and he had to work to keep a frown from his face. 

It was a normal night of work and it felt like it had been awhile since that happened. He did his dances, he wasn’t scheduled for any floor time, and he brought in fairly good tips. It was almost the end of his night, he only had one more dance to do, and he couldn’t wait to finish and go home and take a shower and get some sleep. 

In his mind he was already out the door and that was probably why it took him so long to recognize the person standing right at the edge of the stage. He was on all fours when he looked up and met Colin’s eyes, and for several beats of the song he didn’t do anything, only shaking out of his shock when customers started to yell. The mick hadn’t looked happy to see him. Not turned on, not friendly, no, there was murder all over his face and Beecher didn’t know what to do. 

Nearing the end of the dance he glanced up, trying to catch the floor boss’ eyes, but he couldn’t find him anywhere. He sucked, at least Vern had been good at that. The bouncer at the door was looking outside, not in, and when Beecher finished his song and looked for Colin he didn’t see him, making his anxiety spike. 

He gave half waves to the crowd and collected his tip money, trying to keep an eye out for Colin as he moved behind the curtain to the back room. And he didn't know why he didn’t think Colin would be back there, he had never seen him come behind the curtain and as soon as he was out of sight of the front room Colin had his wrist, dragging him further back into the building.

“Colin, wait-”

He stopped just long enough to slap him in the face, spinning him around to slam him against the wall behind a set of speakers, relatively hidden from view. Colin was in his space and he thought he was going to yell but hands wrapped in his hair and dragged his head back until Colin’s lips were on his.

At a loss as to what to do he did nothing, not kissing back but not fighting, until a sharp nip at his lip split it open and he cried out. Colin pulled back and now Beecher could smell the alcohol on him and he snarled in Beecher’s face. “Don’t act prude on me now, bitch. I see that on your neck. You’re giving it up, I should probably get some after all the shit I had to put up with from you.”

Beecher whined and tried to twist away but Colin only pulled him off the wall and then slammed him back against it, knocking the wind out of him. “Quiet bitch.”

Beecher tried to see around him, to see if someone saw him get pushed back, or would be coming to his rescue but all he could see was Colin. He tried to get his hands up to protect himself but Colin shoved them away. “Where is Vern, Toby? Isn’t he here to save your pretty ass?”

“Please-”

“I came to that night and I was actually fucking  _ worried _ about you. Ryan told me I was being a stupid fuck but I didn’t believe him Beecher. He told me to cut you off and get rid of you but I told him you weren’t like that. You were loyal, and a friend and...”

Colin kept talking but all Beecher heard was the part about Ryan. He tried to focus on him and when the words stopped he whimpered out, “Ryan said to get rid of me?”

A sharp bark of laughter and Colin sounded drunk. Drunk and hurt and angry, and it wasn’t a good combination for Beecher. “Of course that is what you care about.” He pressed in so close that his body held Beecher in place. “He’s been telling me to dump you for  _ weeks _ . He thought you’d leave if you kept working here, if he took away your drugs, but you just kept sticking around like the pathetic bitch you are.”

Beecher was shaking his head and sputtered out, “He... he did those for my own good...” 

“He did those to get rid of you, but wanted to make sure if he needed something you were still there. What did you think bitch? You think that you were besties because you spent a few years blowing him and taking his dick up your ass? You were his prag. Just like you were Schillinger’s. Fuck, I guess like you still are.”

Keller’s words came back to him with those words, that oz didn’t make him a bitch. That he was born one and he struggled to get away from him. Colin was lying, he was trying to hurt him and the words weren’t true but deep down he knew that they were. Had always known that Ryan was out for Ryan but still, it hurt. 

When it sunk in he felt the fight leave him and Colin gave him a triumphant look as he leaned in to him. “You’re going to come home with me. Fuck Ryan, I’ll still take care of you. You know you’ve wanted me to.”

“No...”

Colin chuckled but was reaching for his pants, “I’m gonna fuck you right here against the wall either way. You can run back to Vern if you want, or you can come with me. Does it really even matter to you where you end up?” He spun Beecher around so he was facing the wall and was tugging his pants down. He leaned in close to his ear, “I’ll give you drugs if you come home with me. You don’t have to work here, you can just stay in the apartment all day and get high.”

It was appealing, it was so appealing to him that it made him sick. He wanted that, he turned his head to look at Colin and whatever was on his face had Colin grin, and then his pants were down past his ass and Colin’s hand was on his skin, a cock rubbing against him. It wasn’t until he tried to push in that Beecher realized Colin was going to try to fuck him without any lube, without any prep, and finally something snapped in to place. 

He slammed his head backwards, and knew from the pained scream that he had hit Colin square in the nose. He whirled to face him, and while Colin was distracted he reached down and grabbed the letter opening from where he had stashed it when he got changed and came back up holding it out defensively. 

Colin had been heading towards him but stuttered to a stop, staring at the silver blade in his hand. With his other hand Beecher grabbed his pants and pulled them up and snarled at Colin, “Get the fuck away from me.”

His face was completely and utterly shocked, staring at Beecher like he had never seen him before. He hadn’t seen him like this, he’d seen shadows of it when Beecher had messed with customers but this... this was the rabid trapped animal that had bitten Robson. 

“Beecher.”

“Mike!” He screeched the floor boss’ name as loud as he could, hoping to get someone’s attention, but held the weapon up. Colin glanced the way he had come and then moved forward quickly like he was going to try to get Beecher despite the weapon. He somewhat clumsily side stepped him and swiped out with the letter opener cutting open Colin’s arm and he had just enough time to see the surprise give way to rage when a big man came flying around the corner. 

He didn’t hesitate when he got close to grab Colin and shove him away, making the drunk man stumble and fall. Sure that he was down for a moment he looked at Beecher, “You okay Toby?”

He breathed easier when Mike was between them and he worked on getting his pants up and buckled. Two men came in behind Mike, the bouncers, and grabbed Colin, dragging him towards the front door. 

He felt dumb, and helpless, and when Mike turned to explain he was going to apologize but hesitated at the look on his face. Mike looked nervous and was eyeing him up and down, trying to assess if he had been hurt he supposed. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yea.”

“I don’t know how he got back here. Tell Schillinger that we were keeping an eye on you, I just don’t know how he got back.”

For a moment Beecher was back in Oz, but not the horrible memories. He had the distinct memory of wherever he went, work, meals, library, there was always someone looking out for him, keeping an eye on him. Keeping track of him. Maybe for some people it would have been a negative. But first with Vern and then with O’Reily, they were people you didn’t fuck with, so no one had fucked with him. 

He nodded his head, “He tried to fuck me.” He glanced at the way they were going, “I think I broke his nose.”

Mike reached towards him and he tensed up, but he only grabbed Beecher’s arm to pull him forward, and pulled the blade out of his hand. He eyed it curiously before tucking it into his back pocket. “Want me to call the police?” He shook his head hard, and Mike didn’t look particularly surprised. “Come on in the office, I’ll call Schillinger to come get you.”

He was being pulled away but he stopped, tugging on his sleeve at that, “I have his truck. I’m fine.”

“Then I will just call him and let him know what happened and see what he wants to do.”

“Mike, I’m fine.” He started to pull harder on the hold and was surprised when Mike gave him an apologetic look but tightened it until it hurt and kept pulling him towards the office. He pulled harder and thought about dropping to the ground, but Mike gave him a look. “Please don’t do that, I need you to come to the office so I can call Schillinger. You aren’t gonna change my mind Toby, don’t make me have to carry you there.”

And Vern thought he didn’t still have an army of underlings working for him. Beecher numbly nodded and stopped resisting, letting Mike pull them in the office and shut the door. He only let him go once it was shut and Toby slunk to the couch to wait. 

Mike gave him a reassuring look as he leaned on the desk, picking up the phone and dialed. He had been so keyed up on what happened he didn’t really think about it, and now that the phone was ringing he felt his face heating up. God, he wished that they didn’t have to tell Vern.

The phone rang for a long time before Mike hung it up, frowning at it. He had barely set it down when it rang back and he snatched it, “Cuffs.”

Beecher couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation, only Mike’s side. And he didn’t like it. “Beecher got attacked by that Colin dude.” A pause, “Well, he was in the back room and...” “No.” “No, he attacked him.” “Sure.” Mike held out the phone, “He wants to talk to you.”

Beecher climbed to his feet and held his hand out for the phone, turning away from Mike as he held it up. “Sir?”

“Are you okay?”

He actually sounded concerned. “Yes. I was just going to head home but Mike said he had to call you.”

“Fuck yea he had to call me. Are you okay to drive home?”

For a moment he wondered what would happen if he said no. Would Vern come in a taxi to get him? Would someone drive him home? He was reminded again that he shouldn’t test the limits and found himself nodding before realizing that he had to speak out loud. “Yea, I just want to come home.”

“Alright, put Mike back on.”

“Yes, sir.” He handed the phone back and paced around the room, waiting to be dismissed. Mike hung up the phone and gave him a strained smile, “Come on, go get your stuff and I’ll walk you out to the truck.”

“I’m fine Mike.” He tried to go around him but Mike grabbed his arm again, and gave him an apologetic shrug when Beecher stared at him. 

“Schillinger said.” 

Mike led him towards his locker and Beecher was starting to get aggravated and when he let him go he flung open his locker. Without looking he spoke up, “You know, when I was in Oz, Schillinger had this Aryan named Robson follow me around all the time. I didn’t like it then either, and Robson found that out.”

“Come on Toby, don’t start that stuff with me. I’m just trying to keep my job. I don’t like it any more than you.”

“Yea, I’m sure.”

“The boss said to keep an eye on his boyfriend, and make sure you get sent off safe, don’t act like I’m doing something awful to you here Toby.”

He froze as Mike kept talking and turned around so he could see his face, “He said his boyfriend?”

Mike trailed off and eyed him, looking like he was trying to think. “Oh, uh. No. He just said... I guess I just figured.” He shrugged like it wasn’t that important. 

He slowly turned back to his locker and muttered out, “Schillinger isn’t gay.”

“Oh.” Still disinterested. The silence stretched and Mike leaned against his locker, “What happened to Robson?”

Beecher didn’t stop but felt his mouth twist up in smirk, turning to Mike with it without saying anything and then going back to getting his stuff. “What do you think happened to Robson?”

For a moment Mike looked concerned, like he wasn’t sure, but then he laughed. “Bullshit Beecher, you’re full of shit. Just get your stuff.”

“Yea, yea, what would a little bitch like me do, right?” He couldn’t shove the grin down though, and finally shut his locker, turning to look at Mike. “I’m ready, boss.”

“You’re a dick, Beecher.” Mike slapped him in the shoulder though, joking, and Beecher nodded along with it as he followed him. He made it to the truck safely, thanking Mike profusely until he flipped him off and left.

In the truck he started it and sat there for a minute, scanning the parking lot, wondering what exactly happened to Colin. He didn’t dwell on it, he just wanted to get home. 

It wasn’t a long drive and he parked the truck carefully, he didn’t want to scuff it up at all, and headed towards the apartment. For a moment he was worried he didn’t have any keys, any way to get ahold of Vern, but he realized they were on the keys.

When he got to the door he lifted his hand to the lock but hesitated and knocked instead. The door was pulled open almost immediately, and he found himself staring at Vern. Vern grabbed him and dragged him into the room and was hugging him, and Beecher was too frozen to do anything. 

When he pulled back he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do, not used to physical affection from Schillinger unless it was because he wanted something. He found himself stumbling over his words and stuttered out, “Did you... do you want me to blow you?”

“What?” Schillinger dropped his hand and looked so utterly confused that Beecher just stared at him. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You hugged me, I thought that maybe...”

“Christ, I was worried. That fucker could have killed you, I shouldn’t have sent you by yourself. I don’t want...”

“Sorry.”

Schillinger opened his mouth like he was going to say something but shut it, and instead grabbed Beecher’s wrist and pulled him towards the couch. “What the fuck happened Beecher?”

He sat down and shrugged. “He was at the show. He followed me into the back, pinned me against the wall.”

“Did he fuck you? Are you hurt?”

“No I...” His stomach twisted because some things were ingrained, and he had broken one of the cardinal rules. He swallowed hard, “I had a shiv. I headbutted him and then ...”

“A fucking shiv Beecher?” He tried to look away but Vern grabbed his chin and turned it, “We aren’t in fucking Oz. What did you even have?”

It was even worse and he looked away, and muttered, “The letter opener from your sister’s office.”

The laughter surprised him and he glanced up quickly at Vern’s face. “What?”

“You shivved him. Oh, Toby. That isn’t good. That isn’t getting better.” He shrugged, and some of that viciousness he had seen in Oz came out, “It is funny though.”

It wasn’t the anger that he had expected to get and he cautiously inched closer, “You aren’t mad that I had a weapon?”

“I guess it’s good you did.”

Vern was still chuckling and Beecher bit his lip, because now that there was down time, he could feel Colin’s hands on him, and realized what had almost happened. He moved quickly on the couch before Vern could stop him, nearly throwing himself into the other’s lap. Vern made a startled sound but Beecher only buried his head against his chest, gripping on to him as he started to cry. 

After a few seconds where he was sure he was going to be pushed away there were arms wrapped around him, holding him close. “Hey, you’re okay.”

“No, no I’m not.”

For the moment whatever tension was between them all the time disappeared and Vern rubbed his back and shushed him like he was comforting a child, rocking Beecher until he cried himself out. He stayed where he was, and the last thing he remembered was Vern talking to him softly about how things were going to be okay.


	14. Chapter 14

Beecher woke up wrapped in Vern’s scent, his face buried in a soft pillow, and it took a few seconds to realize he was in the bed. He didn’t want to open his eyes, didn’t want to deal with the night before and rolled over, only to run into a wall of flesh.

His eyes flew open to Vern Schillinger sleeping in the bed next to him, on his back with his arm thrown over his head, and he froze. 

Slowly, so slowly he eased out of the bed and Vern didn’t even stir. He slunk out to the kitchen, and the panic he initially felt was calmed by the fact that he was still fully clothed and so had Vern been. He must have carried Beecher in after he fell asleep, and fell asleep in there as well. How humiliating. 

He rubbed at his face and shook his head, trudging to the kitchen to make something to eat for him and Vern. He made coffee and sat at the table while he waited for it to brew. It had become such a second nature in such a little amount of time. The paper was still on the table and he glanced at the room that Vern was still sleeping in, was aware that the other man had actually changed. He didn’t believe it at first, but it was starting to sink in, and if Vern could change he could too. He pulled the paper towards him and looked at it with renewed vigor.

  
  


Schillinger reached out and found only the empty bed and sat up as he yawned. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep on the bed, after he had brought in Beecher he had just laid down for a second but that had been all. Probably what happened when he was getting woken up in the middle of the night. He could smell coffee and bacon and he grinned. Maybe he could just keep Beecher around, that was what a roommate was, wasn’t it?

Laughing at himself he got up and headed towards the kitchen. He stopped nearly there, watching Beecher drinking a cup of coffee and looking through the job ads. For a moment he didn’t want to intrude, because he knew as soon as he was in the room the relaxed stance would disappear, and he was getting really tired of people being afraid of him. He shook off the feeling, moping didn’t do anyone any good, he had beat that into enough prags to know it. “Morning Toby.”

Just as he suspected Beecher startled and tensed, eyes sliding up to look at him, before the man jumped to his feet. “I made you coffee.”

He only nodded and sat at the table, waiting for Beecher to get it. He reached for the paper while Toby was standing, and turned it towards him, noticing out of the corner of his eye as Beecher flinched. He had circled some jobs and Schillinger read down them. 

Fast food, and cleaning jobs, and when he looked up to meet Beecher’s eyes his face was red, embarrassed. He looked away quickly from Vern and finished getting the coffee, setting it down and slipping back into his chair, even though he didn’t touch the paper again.

Vern sipped the coffee and couldn’t help the surprised sound he made, “You make good coffee.”

“Thank you, sir.” Sarcasm slipped in to that but he ignored it. 

“I worked as a garbage man when I first got out. Or whatever they call them... sanitation... something or some fuck other.”

Beecher nodded but didn’t look back to the paper. “I make a lot at cuffs.”

Schillinger shrugged, “If you aren’t ready to leave there yet, I can at least promise you that I’ll keep you off the floor.”

“Sleeping with the boss does have its benefits then, doesn’t it.”

Schillinger’s good mood disappeared instantly, “You know what, fuck you Beecher.”

“You already did that.” Beecher leaned forward, the helplessness of Colin, of Mike, of all of it slammed down on him. “When I was being manhandled by one of your henchmen at the club, he called me your boyfriend. So cat is out of the bag, isn’t it?”

Something in his tone made Schillinger ease back, and take a few deep breaths before he sat forward in his chair. “It’s too early to deal with you being dramatic Beecher. Why don’t you reel it in for a bit.”

Beecher looked a little lost, clearly expecting to start a fight, to push Vern into reacting and after he just sat there quietly sipping his coffee he let out of a sigh, muttering, “I’m sorry.” He got up and pulled open the fridge, getting the eggs and spoke into the counter, “I wasn’t trying to start anything.”  
“Yea you were. But that’s okay, you had a rough night.” He looked up from the section of the paper he was reading and added, “Henchmen?”

Beecher snorted as he mixed the eggs. “They are just as scared of you as Robson and Cutler ever were.”

It was a weird sort of nostalgia to share, and it felt wrong that they would share it like it was a warm fuzzy feeling. Beecher swirled the eggs but turned to look at him, “You ever hear what I did to Robson?”

Vern shook his head, but didn’t seem overly interested. “What, you shiv him?” Again, that odd feeling, because he was talking about Beecher killing someone with as much emotion as he did asking him to get him a cup of coffee.

“He tried to force me to blow him when I was in gen pop for a while.” He waited till Vern looked up at him, curious, and Beecher met his eyes. “And I bit a chunk of his dick off.”

It was worth it to see Vern choke on his coffee, spitting out the mouthful he had just taken and coughing, trying to catch his breath. “You fucking what?”

“You heard me.”

Vern stared at him and Beecher crossed his arms, refusing to be cowed by the look. Vern finally lifted his cup of coffee and took a sip. “That does explain a lot. I wondered how you managed to stay safe once I was gone. That’s a long time to be in and still be a prag, figured you had to make some move.”

He could have left it like that, but he gave him one more look before he turned back to making food and forced himself to say the words. To acknowledge what he had always known but refused to say, because he wanted to think it was more. That it was different. “I was O’Reily’s prag.”

“Yea, I know Beecher. I just didn’t think you knew that.”

“I didn’t.”

Vern must have realized and Beecher felt him stand up and move closer, leaning against the counter. “What did Colin say to you?”

“That Ryan... O’Reily told him to get rid of me weeks ago. That I wasn’t useful anymore. Too fucking pathetic to understand that I was being kicked out.”

Schillinger shrugged, “You’re going on Colin’s word, you don’t know if that is true.”

Beecher waited for Schillinger to move so he could get to the stove. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t, but not for the reasons you are thinking about.” Schillinger watched him cook, “If it mattered to you that much to be there you would have already gone back.”

He nodded, that was true. It didn’t make it hurt any less. He had loved O’Reily, not romantically, not... he had loved him though. Vern’s hand dropped down to his shoulder and he squeezed it before heading back to the table. “You’re more erratic than usual today.”

Beecher shrugged, but didn’t disagree. He finished making food and then got together plates, setting them down on the table, pushing one towards Schillinger. He waited until he had eaten a few forkfuls before he added, “Maybe erratic enough to poison your food, yea?”

Schillinger didn’t even hesitate, and just ate another few forkfuls before he looked up. “You don’t have the balls to poison me.”

He narrowed his eyes at him, before snorting and eating his own food. No, he didn’t. Not yet. But maybe he was getting there.

  
  


“I was thinking.” Beecher almost laughed at that, but he wasn’t that much better that he was okay with openly mocking Vern, so he just kept it to himself as he did the dishes. Vern appeared to be waiting for his response. 

“Oh.” He rinsed off the dish in his hand and set it down in the drainer, turning to face Vern, “Sir?”

“Maybe you should call your family.”

He barely considered what he was doing, just knew that he was in the living room pulling on his shoes and Schillinger was still sitting at the table with a stupid look on his face. “Beecher.”

His shoes were on and he had no money, nowhere to go but he grabbed the door handle and was pulling the door open. It finally kicked Schillinger into action and he made it through the small apartment quickly, slapping his hand down against the door, shoving it closed. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Leaving.”

“Like fuck you are.” He grabbed Beecher’s arm and pulled him towards the couch, shoving him down on it when he didn’t resist. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

“I’m not calling my fucking family, you can’t make me.”

“Fine, fuck, no one is going to make you. It was just a suggestion.”

Beecher still looked unsure, like he was going to bolt and Vern pointed at him, “Just sit right the fuck there until you calm down.”

The tone made his body go rigid before he crossed his arms over his chest, abruptly looking away, face twisted up in anger. 

Vern leaned closer and shoved his shoulder, not hurting him just trying to knock him out of it. “Hey, relax. This isn’t something you need to get all worked up about Beecher, it was just a suggestion.” When his body language didn’t ease at all Schillinger sat next to him. “Hey, look at me.”

Beecher did, and he was angrier than Vern had remembered seeing him before. Not sure exactly how to respond he lowered his voice and spoke like he did when he was talking to his kids, “Tell me what I just said.”

His jaw worked and he held Vern’s eyes but he kept his mouth shut. Vern wasn’t even sure what was getting him so worked up. Okay, that voice hadn’t worked, he would use the other one. The Oz one. “Beecher!”

“What?” 

“Tell me you understand I’m not saying you have to call your family.”

He thought he still wasn’t going to answer but finally he dropped his arms and his voice sounded rough, “You aren’t telling me I have to call my family.”

“Good. Now do you understand what that means or did something snap?”

His body language was starting to ease now, his arms dropping to his lap and after a long breath he finally looked away, “I don’t want to call my family.”

“You don’t have to. I’m not telling you to. Okay?”

He nodded his head and now that the adrenalin rush was over, that his little meltdown was over he was embarrassed and he mumbled out, “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, I know what it is like to have bad blood with family Beecher.” He didn’t want to push him but he did slip in, “Maybe you can talk to Greta about that.”

“As far as my family knows I’m dead. And it is going to stay that way.”

“If that is what you want.” They sat there for a long time before Beecher finally stood, glancing at Vern before he headed towards the kitchen. 

“I gotta finish the dishes.”

He watched Beecher slink into the kitchen, working on cleaning, and he definitely knew one place to start. He’d tell his sister about the family thing, because clearly that would be something that Beecher needed, they could support him, because fuck knew that he was probably doing more harm than good. He wasn’t a shrink, fuck, he wasn’t even really that good of a person. 

Just to distract himself he spoke up, “I’m off again tonight. Do you want to work and I’ll just go keep an eye on you, or do you want to call in?”

There was no answer so he turned to face him, “Beecher?”

Toby was leaning against the counter, mouth pressed together tight as if he was thinking about it. “I’ll be fine by myself.”

“Yea, well, you said that last night and it didn’t turn out so great.” Schilinger winced even as he said it, he hadn’t meant it to come out like that and he was sure that wasn’t helping anything. 

“What do you want me to do?”

He started to tell him that it was up to him but he remembered some of the breakthrough they had, and he remembered his sister explaining baby steps to him, though he was sure that she didn’t approve of him telling Toby to do anything. So he finally nodded, “I’ll come in with you. I doubt he’ll show up again tonight but I will be there just in case. Sound good?”

“Sure.” 

“Good.” He wasn’t sure that was true. But he nodded anyways, trying to be confident in his answer. It made it easy to miss the days of Oz, he had been confident in every single fucking thing he did. He shoved to his feet, “I’m going to go do some grocery shopping. You want to go?”

Beecher shook his head, not looking up as he dried dishes, and Schillinger nodded. “Alright Beech, I’ll be back in a while.”

There was a ‘yes,sir’ from the kitchen that he ignored as he pulled his shoes on, and headed out to his truck. Halfway out to his truck he hesitated, glancing back at his apartment. Something felt off to him, he didn’t like leaving Beecher, but he finally shook his head and kept moving. He could use a break from the other man, he was so worried about getting Beecher’s head straight that he hadn’t given much to his own. Maybe he should take some time for that. Yea, he could use a break.


	15. Chapter 15

The apartment was quiet when he got back, no lights coming from under the door, no sounds and panic made him scramble for his keys. He dropped them once, trying to get them moving, and finally got the key in the lock. 

He shouldn’t have been gone so long, he had stopped to have a drink and then another and played some pool at the local redneck bar and it had been good. Had felt good. And he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Beecher. Not his problems, not what he was trying to do, not just kept wishing that he was there having a drink with him.

The door slammed open, “Beecher?”

There was no sound and he flipped on the light, kicking the door shut. Nothing looked out of place, it was clean, all the dishes were put away and he headed towards the only closed door. His hand hesitated over the door knob. “Toby?”

When there was still no response he twisted it, pushing the door open. The light from the living room filtered in and Vern froze, staring at Beecher lying on the bed. It was long seconds before he watched his chest rise and fall and all the adrenalin drained out of him in a whoosh. Toby was just sleeping, he did work the night shift that night, it made sense.

Vern had no idea why the thought of something happening to Beecher, that he might have hurt himself, or that he might have left, upset him so much. He was still a little drunk and tired so he pulled off his shirt and headed into the room. He nudged Beecher to roll over on his side, and the man just mumbled sleepily and moved over. 

The bed was warm and Vern climbed in next to Toby, spooning up against his back and wrapping an arm around his waist, pulling him close. He buried his face against Beecher’s neck and huffed sleepily before closing his eyes and letting his buzz pull him under.

Somewhere there was a buzzing sound and Beecher whined, waving one hand towards it, wishing it would stop. Eventually he hit the alarm clock and made a content sound as he huddled back into the arms holding him. The arm around his waist tightened and a hard dick was pressed up against his ass. It should have bothered him but he just ground back instead, trying to go back to sleep even as his mind supplied that there was a reason that the alarm was going off.

He was almost back asleep when the body wrapped around him suddenly tensed, going stock still, and it was finally what kicked in his own awareness. 

Neither of them moved, Beecher looking down at the arm around his waist, his hands had been holding it to him, and he shifted his weight, which only made him rub back against Vern’s cock. Again.

Slowly, quietly, he murmured “Sir?”  
The hand around his waist tightened and he was sure that Vern was awake, but he wasn’t pulling away and he wasn’t sure what was going on. Cautiously he tried to pull away and the hand around his waist instantly loosened, not trying to hold him there, and it made him stop. Made him settle back against him. 

He tried again, “Vern?”  
“You feel good.” Vern’s face was pressed against his neck still, in his hair. “You smell good.”

Beecher wasn’t sure what to do. He knew he should move, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to stay right here and he tilted his head to the side a little in invitation. There was a hesitation, the hand around him clenching for a moment, before there was a mouth on his neck. 

He pressed his foot into the bed, trying to get leverage to push back against Vern’s body as teeth bit down for a moment, and then a tongue was licking at it. He couldn’t help wiggling, pressing closer, a moan making its way up his throat. 

He tried to reach back to touch Vern, but his hand was grabbed and gently pushed down to the bed and he understood to keep it there. Vern pulled away and spoke quietly, “Do you want me to stop?”

Beecher shook his head but Vern reached up to hold his head still. “I need to hear the words. Do you want me to stop?”

“No.” 

“I’ll stop if you want me to.” And then Vern was at his neck again, though his hand slid down Beecher’s stomach, slipping into the pajama pants he wore to wrap around his cock. Vern stroked him slowly, lazily, as he rocked his hips, grinding against Beecher’s ass, setting up a rhythm. 

It felt good in a way that Beecher couldn’t quite put his finger on, almost innocent and he let out a strangled laugh, because nothing either of them ever did again would be innocent, but it was fitting.

The hand on his dick paused, “Beecher? Are you laughing at me?”

“No.” He thought about trying to explain but didn’t think he would get it, “No, please don’t stop.”

He could feel him nodding against him and his hand started to move again. They needed to get up, they needed to get ready for work, but nothing would have convinced him to get out of the bed. 

Eventually the strokes weren’t enough, Vern could only move his hands so much in Beecher’s pants and he whined, shifting his hips, trying to get more friction. Vern bit the side of his neck and sucked, and Beecher was starting to think that the man might have a thing about marking him. Actually, thanks to the swastika on his ass he  _ knew _ the man liked marking him. “Easy, Toby.”

Vern pulled his hand out of his pants and shoved them down his hips, and Beecher struggled to kick them off, leaving him naked. Vern pulled him back flush against his body, though Vern still had his underwear on. Beecher tried to reach back to push them off, but Vern pressed his hands back down to the bed a little rougher, and Beecher couldn’t help it as he keened at the sensation. 

It was Vern’s turn to chuckle as he pressed his face close, “You like that too, don’t you. A little rough.”

Before he could answer that Vern grabbed his leg and hiked it up and back over his own legs and then was touching him again, more movement. His legs spread meant that when Vern pressed up against him his cock rubbed against his ass, pressing between his ass cheeks, and the feel of his clothed clock rubbing over his entrance made him whimper and strain his body, trying to shove back into Vern and forward into his hand.

Frenzied whines slipped out of his mouth and he was so close to cumming when suddenly Vern pulled his hand away and moved back. He scrambled for his hand but Vern was already too far away. He tried to grab himself but Vern was over him and grabbed his arm, forcing it down to the bed as it forced Beecher onto his back under him. 

“Vern, please.” He pressed his hips up desperately but Vern let go of his hands to hold his hips, keeping him flat on the bed. Beecher finally looked up to his face, but Vern was looking down at him, seemingly entranced as Beecher’s dick twitched and bobbed. Finally Vern looked up at him and they met eyes.

He saw the intent there, but he didn’t really believe it until he heard Vern mutter, “If you fucking tell anyone...”

And then Vern was leaning down and Beecher was so shocked he froze, and all he could do was watch as Vern hesitantly licked at the tip of his cock. It sent him into action, throwing his head back and screaming even as he tried to rock his hips up. There was no chance of that happening, Vern had them pinned down with more strength than he could ever hope to match. 

Sometimes Beecher had wondered, wondered if all that time Vern was in he had ever been the one on the bottom, if he had ever had to pay dues for protection, but he was certain now that the answer was no. The tip of his cock slid in to Vern’s mouth, and he could feel his hesitation, but a tongue lapped at him and he fisted his hands in the sheets. 

It wouldn’t last, he couldn’t remember the last time he had gotten a blow job. Not since before Oz, and even then it wasn’t like they were plentiful. He wanted it to go longer, wanted to have Vern work on him until his jaw was sore and he was choking, but that wasn’t going to happen either. Vern’s hand stroked him, just barely sucking on the tip and he gasped as soon as he saw him. 

“I’m gonna cum.”

The words were barely choked out and Vern pulled back, jerking him off with a fast solid pressure that dragged him over the edge. He threw his arm over his eyes, panting and whimpering as Vern stroked him a few more times through the aftershocks. 

When Beecher finally could think he pulled away his arm and looked at Vern kneeling over him, hard against his shorts, but it was when he looked up to his face that he was caught up. Vern looked unsure, a moment underneath that armor and it was all it took for Beecher to nudge him until they switched spots.

He grabbed the band of his pants and tugged them down, kneeling between Vern’s legs. He didn’t wait for him to say anything, to tell him to do it or not to do it before he leaned down and licked Vern’s cock from root to tip, swirling his tongue around the tip before he sucked him in. This angle wasn’t the best for deep throating but he sucked him down as much as he could, gagging when he hit the back of his throat.

Vern wrapped his hand in Beecher’s hair, hard enough that it hurt before pushing his head down, thrusting his hips up. Schillinger wasn’t shy about taking control of the blow job, and there was no holding his hips down, but Beecher liked that too. Like it had been in Oz when he hadn’t had a choice or a say. He settled into the sheets, feeling good against his spent cock, and let Vern control his movements. He had gotten better at this since he had sucked Vern’s cock in Oz and once the initial thrusts slowed he used that talent, licking and sucking and swirling his tongue. He shifted his weight until he could get one hand up to stroke the bottom of Vern’s cock in time with his mouth.

“Oh fuck, Beecher.” The fingers tightened in his hair but didn’t push, more like Vern couldn’t keep his hands from clenching. “Fuck you’re  _ good _ at this.”

He hummed his agreement with that, listening to Vern’s moan at the vibrations around his cock. There was no warning from Vern, but he was intimately familiar with the man’s body and could feel when he was about to cum. He sucked down deep as Vern tensed up, the hand clenching his hair and holding his head down while he came. 

Beecher swallowed around his cock, patiently waiting until the hand in his hair eased up enough that he could lift his head. He gently licked as he moved his head up, finally pulling all the way off as he rested on his elbows and looked up at Vern. 

He looked dazed by the orgasm and didn’t say anything, the anxiety starting to overwhelm Beecher so he nudged against Vern’s thigh, hoping to get a response. He realized he was lying in a pool of his own cum and frowned, shifting his weight.

“Did I hurt you?” Vern grabbed his arm and dragged him up until he was laying over him, and Vern was touching his face, checking him.

“What?”

“You were frowning. Did I hurt you?”

Beecher licked his lips, regretting it as he came away with the taste of salty cum, and shook his head, “No, I was just lying in the wet spot.”

“I wasn’t too rough?”

Beecher grimaced and moved to slide off Vern’s chest, pushing towards the edge of the bed. “I can handle a lot.”

Vern grabbed him and pulled him back, “Hey.”

Beecher was hoping to avoid this because he was confused and he didn’t know what to say. “We need to get ready for work.”

Fast enough that he couldn’t react Vern yanked him back and rolled them so he was over Beecher, his body pushing him into the mattress, pinning him there. 

He meant to be indignant but the weight settled over his cock felt good and he closed his eyes, pressing up against him. Vern had his wrists pinned down and he flexed them against the grip and that felt good too. 

“Don’t walk away from me when I’m talking to you.”

“Or you’ll pin me down naked?”

They stared at each other until Beecher looked away. Vern nodded, “I don’t know why this keeps happening.”

Beecher didn’t know either. He did know that he’d liked waking up held by Vern, and he liked being touched by him. Finally he muttered, “I don’t know.”

Vern let go of his wrists to touch his sides, hands sliding down his torso, down to his hips where he gripped them and rubbed his thumbs over his hip bones. He shifted his weight and sighed. “I missed you when I was at that bar Toby. Wished you were there, that some funny shit that happened we could have laughed about. What the fuck is that?”

He let go of his hips to grab Beecher’s wrists and press them to the mattress on either side of his head, squeezing until there would be bruises and Beecher’s body betrayed him as he thrust up against Vern.

“You like when I’m rough.”

Beecher closed his eyes and took in a deep breath before letting it out, but he didn’t open his eyes. “I do.” There was no point in denying it.

The hold on his wrist tightened just a little more, bones grinding together before Vern let go completely and knelt up, pulling away from him. “Is that because of me?” He didn’t sound smug, or sarcastic, there was a deep worry in the words and that was the only reason he responded to it.

“I don’t know. You were my first...” The words stuck in his throat and he looked away, weirdly embarrassed to talk about this considering he was lying naked in bed with him, “The first guy I had sex with. I don’t know. Ryan wasn’t rough but Chris...”

All words stopped dead, and Beecher felt his eyes widen, and then he was wiggling out from under Vern, “We need to get ready to go.”

“Who is Chris?”

Vern caught his wrist before he could make it out of the bed, and he tugged on it but Vern was stronger, he always would be. “We need to get ready for work.”

Vern eyed him and then nodded at the dresser, “Get dressed.”

Beecher nodded, grateful and worked on pulling on his clothes while Vern did the same. Afterwards he tried to bolt out of the room but Vern caught him and pulled him back, forcing him to sit on the bed. “Sit, we need to talk about this.”

His skin felt too tight, and he knew he was blushing, why couldn’t Vern just take the god damn blow job and leave him be? “Vern-”

“I’m not gay.”

Honestly, Beecher felt a little bit like taking a hammer to his head. He opened his mouth to talk, closed it again. Finally he put his elbows on his knees and rested his head on his hand. “Sometimes it just is Vern. Sometimes it’s comfort or it’s lust or it’s just... familiar.” Vern looked confused by that, and Beecher seized an opportunity that he didn’t think he wanted, but it fit. It made sense to him. “We can keep doing it, if you want. Just... to feel good. It doesn’t have to mean anything more.”

“Just ... what. Fuck buddies?”

Beecher was shaking his head before he thought about it, and wouldn’t look up at Vern. “No... just. I don’t know.”

It was Beecher’s tone that must have finally jolted Vern, and the nervousness slid away. “No?”

“Not... not fuck buddies.” His mouth twisted around the words like he didn’t like them. Like they didn’t fit right. “Not us.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

He couldn’t explain it, he didn’t even really understand it for himself, but he knew that he didn’t like the way it sounded. The only way he could explain it Vern wasn’t going to like. “It’s too... equal.”

Vern made a surprised sound, “You’re upset because it is too equal?”

He shook his head and crossed his arms, “Do you want to keep fucking or not?”

“Who is Chris?”

He couldn’t keep up with the change in conversation, and it wasn’t usually him being confused by Vern. There was a bright flash of hurt at the name though, and he cursed himself for mentioning it. He had been so careful up until then, hadn’t mentioned him, hadn’t thought about him. Vern was staring at him so he looked away and muttered, “He was in Oz.”

“And?” Beecher clenched his hands together, and knew that he was flushing and the more vulnerable he was, the more confident it made Vern. “You said you fucked him?”

“I didn’t.”

“You didn’t fuck him?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Sure you did.” Vern could smell blood now, scared prey, and went after it like a tracking dog. He thought maybe he liked him better this way. “You said Ryan wasn’t rough but... Chris was.” Vern eyed him, “You never mentioned fucking anyone else in Oz.”

Beecher shook his head, chewing on his bottom lip. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

He saw the flare of delight in Vern’s eyes, just like he had been in Oz before he went for the jugular, figuratively speaking. He prepared himself for it but instead Vern was easing back, “Okay. Come on, let’s get ready for work.”

“That’s it? You’re not going to push anymore?” 

“You don’t want to talk about it, then you don’t have to talk about it.”

Beecher nodded, “And us? Us having sex?”

Vern’s mouth twisted and then he shrugged. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

They had reached a stalemate and finished getting ready. They went down to Vern’s truck and Vern opened the door for Beecher, shoving him up when he was slow to get in the seat. He shut the door and Beecher pulled the belt across, waiting for Vern. 

It had been a little tense after their conversation but Vern was grinning when he got in. “Aren’t I just a fucking gentleman, getting my lady’s door and everything.”

Beecher let his fingers trail down the seat belt and muttered, “A regular knight in shining armor.” He laughed to himself, “We’ve done this game before.”

“You always gotta bring up old drama.”

Yea, he kind of did. “Thank you for bringing me in to work tonight.” He waved a hand in Vern’s direction, “Don’t get all jealous and punch anyone.”

“Don’t get drunk and make out with someone.”

Beecher’s sudden laughter, startled and honest, almost made Vern swerve the truck into traffic. He glanced over at him and Beecher was giving him big eyes, “So you are saying that you  _ would _ be jealous.”

“No.” He thought over what he said and tightened his hands on the wheel. “Well. You know what, make out with whoever you want.”

“Even you?” What the fuck was he doing? His mouth snapped shut and he turned his head away, ignoring as Vern looked at him. 

To distract himself, to distract Vern, he spoke at the window. “Chris. O’Reily didn’t care if I... all he cared about was if I was being forced to. As long as I wanted it, he didn’t care if I fucked around. Chris and I... He’s dead now.”

Beecher listened to himself with some detachment, the waver and the heartbreak so clear in his voice even Vern couldn’t miss it, and even though he hadn’t planned on saying much he knew what he had given away. 

“You kill him?”

“No.” He let out a surprised laugh and shook his head, trailing his fingers down the window, “No. The state did.”

He had the vague idea of Vern shifting uncomfortably and he spoke before Vern asked, “I had ... feelings for Chris. And he liked fucking me.”

“Why are you telling me this Beecher?”

“I don’t know. He knew you.”

They had just pulled into the parking lot and Vern put the truck in park and when Beecher finally looked over at him he winced, because now Vern looked suspicious. “He knew me?”

Beecher nodded. “Yup. He served with you in Lardner.” Beecher met his eyes, “He hated you, in case you were curious.”

Vern tapped his fingers on the wheel and felt a weird sensation drop in his stomach. “Chris Keller.”

“Yea, I thought you’d remember him.”

“You and Chris Keller were fucking in Oz?”

Beecher finally felt like he had the upper hand on something and he nodded again. “Your two prags, all together. We had a lot to talk about.”

“Is this supposed to upset me? Make me feel bad?”

“Keller used me.” His words were as flat as he could make them, trying to make sure that Vern couldn’t hear how much they really hurt and he stared out the window. “He found out I had been your prag and that gave him all the ways to come at me to get me to be friends with him, to trust him. To fuck him.”

Suddenly it all seemed to click for Vern and he rubbed a hand across his face, “I’m not trying to set you up here Beecher. I thought we were past this.”

“We are.” He was out of the truck before Vern could say anything, and heading towards the Club. Vern followed him, and they didn’t talk anymore about it as they headed in.


	16. Chapter 16

“Hey Boss man, I didn’t think you were working today.”

Vern gave Beecher a nudge to keep moving into the club and stopped to talk to the bouncers. He was mildly indignant, and felt like he was being dismissed. He looked at Vern for a moment before turning and heading towards the changing room. He was just almost too far away when Vern reached out without looking and caught his wrist, squeezing it before he let him go. 

He snatched his hand to him and rubbed it as he walked, glancing back once at Vern. The small possessive gesture may have seemed minor, but he knew to anyone looking what it would have seemed like. What it looked like. What it  _ was. _

Taylor seemed surprised to see him, “I didn’t think you’d be back tonight Toby, not after last night.”

He stripped down, getting together his stuff, and mumbled, “Vern is here tonight to keep an eye, just in case.”

“He’s a very attentive boyfriend, yea?”

Beecher glared at another one of the dancers, Mark. “Fuck off Mark.”

“It didn’t take you long to roll over for him did it?”

Taylor tried to move in between them, breaking it up. “Come on guys.”

Toby shoved him out of the way though, going toe to toe with Mark. He’d spent just about enough time getting pushed around. “You have a problem with me?”

Mark moved forward quickly and Toby was just about lifting his hands up, ready to fight when arms wrapped around him, forcing his arms down. Pinning them to his side. “What’s going on here?”

“Nothing, boss.”

He could feel Vern eyeing the dancer, and even from here he could feel the coldness of the look. He knew what Vern looked like when he was unhappy. When he was pissed. It was something to be reckoned with.

“Looked like a fight.”

Beecher tilted his head back to look up at him. He knew this game. He should struggle and fight and be pissed off, tell Vern he didn’t need him to protect him. Instead he just sagged against Vern and didn’t try to argue, just waited for him to make Mark scurry away like a scared little rabbit. 

Once he was gone the arms loosened and Vern glanced down at him. “What was that all about?”

He wiggled until Vern let him go, and went back to what he was doing. He held still as Taylor put eye liner on him and he glanced at Vern, “Just giving me shit about fucking the boss. Glad you showed up to prove him wrong.”

It was almost worth whatever came after that to see Vern look flustered. He grabbed Beecher’s arm and forced him to turn towards him. “You told people we fucked?”

The laugh that made it out this time was a little wilder, a little hysterical and he could see Taylor’s eyes widen. “No, but you just did.”

“I’m getting a fucking drink.”

Toby shook his head when Taylor tried to talk. “Don’t even say it.”

The rest of the night went relatively normal, he did his routines, he kept his eyes on Vern, and now that Vern wasn’t working he rarely took his eyes off him. He was having a drink at the bar, and Beecher felt ridiculously shy and uncomfortable doing his dances. 

Colin didn’t show up, and Beecher hadn’t really expected him to. At the end of the night he collected all his tips from behind the counter, shoving them into Vern’s hands when he came up next to him. Vern took the money and folded it, shoving it in his front pocket. More people watching, judging, and he was going to give the paper another look because he couldn’t stay here with Vern, not with everyone looking at him like that.

On the way home he glanced at Vern. “Does it bother you the way they look at us now?”

“Nope.” Vern sighed and rubbed his face, “It was like being back in Oz. You were so... what was that about Beecher? No snarling, no nasty words. You just took it.”

“Seemed dumb to fight.” He nervously rubbed his hands together, “Do you think it is an improvement or doing worse?”

“I don’t know. Ask Greta about it, we’ll go tomorrow.”

“Why don’t you like your sister?”

“Well, that is a whole lot of not your fucking business, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s not.” He slowly undid his seatbelt and slid across the truck seats until he was pressed against him. “Is it because she married a Jew?”

“What? How do you know that?”

He shrugged. “I saw the nameplate on her desk, just guess by the last name.”

“Yea, that was why.” They stopped at a light and Vern tapped the wheel. “I didn’t talk to her for 20 years. When I got out, when I decided to start trying to fix my life I called her. We had a ... sit down that went as well as can be expected but we agreed to ... try.”

“And then you called her to help me.”

“It’s what she does. And she... she has an idea of what has happened. She’s still a bitch.”

“She seemed nice to me.”

“You can tell her that tomorrow. I’m sure she’ll be really fucking entertained by it.”

Beecher shifted until he pressed in closer. “It would upset you.”

“It’s fine Beecher.” Vern nudged him, “Move over.”

He responded by dropping his head to Vern’s shoulder and moving until he was comfortable. “No.”

“Beecher, move the fuck over.”

“Can’t I just have this Vern?” He pressed closer to him, “Is that too much to ask? Can I just have a little affection for five fucking seconds.”

He thought Vern was going to let him but one hand came off the wheel to grab his shoulder and shove him over until Beecher moved back to the other side, huddling against the door. 

“And put your goddamn seat belt on.”

He didn’t, staring out the window for a bit before he glanced back, “You say that I’m complicated, but you are just as bad.”

“Oh?” Vern sounded unimpressed and Beecher chewed on his lip, not sure what was going on.

“Why are you acting like this?”

“Like what?”

Finally Beecher tasted blood and realized how hard he had been biting his lip. He tried to go over what had happened, what had changed. “Is this because people are saying we are fucking?”

“Beecher, you just need to keep your mouth shut for a while, okay?”

He was starting to nod when he sat up straight, and kicked his foot out into the floorboards, “No.”

“What?”

“No.” He crossed his arms, “I won’t be quiet. I... I asked you a question.”

His voice faltered, and the longer Vern was silent the faster his heart raced. The louder the blood rushing in his ears was. Just as he was close to breaking, close to giving in and apologizing, to backing down, Vern spoke. 

“It bothered me to see you act like that. I don’t want you to act like when you got to Oz Beecher, that isn’t progress. You don’t submit like that and then want to cuddle, you get nasty and bitchy and lash out. It worried me that you changed that up.” Beecher opened his mouth to respond but Vern glanced at him, meeting his eyes, “But that? Refusing to shut up? That is progress, that I know.”

“Vern, I didn’t... what good would it have done. I don’t need to impress Mark or Taylor or... you break up the fight and I don’t lose anything. Sometimes I feel like I need to do anything but give in because then where am I?” He picked at a piece of lint on his pants, “I didn’t feel like I had to defend anything I guess.”

Vern was nodding, “So maybe progress?”

He shrugged, and he felt a little ridiculous. “I guess we ask Greta.”

“You ask.”

“I want you there with me.”

“Beecher, you know that isn’t going to work.”

“Please.”

“We’ll talk about it when we get there.”

“I’m not going to talk to her if you aren’t there.”

“You will if I say you will.”

“But-”

With an annoyed sigh Vern reached over and grabbed Beecher’s arm, giving him a hard tug. Beecher understood instantly and moved over until he was against Vern’s side, curling under Vern’s arm. “On this I’m still the boss. Got it?”

Beecher leaned in against him and nodded, knowing he would feel it. Good, being completely without someone to give him orders would just be a little too much. He was dozing off when Vern spoke, his voice low.

“Beecher, you know... about Keller.”

“I don’t want to talk about him.”

The silence stretched out and Vern spoke again, almost like he couldn’t help himself. “Did you love him?”

Beecher hesitated but nodded against Vern and he squeezed his eyes tight, swearing to himself that he wouldn’t cry. Vern’s voice sounded loud in the cab, “Did he love you?”

He shoved out from under Vern’s arm until he pressed to the far side of the cab, swiping at his face. “I’m done talking.”

“Okay.” Vern reached over to pat his leg but that was all. “Okay, Beecher.”

They pulled into the parking lot and when Vern got out Beecher slid over, following him out his side of the truck, letting Vern help him down. Inside the apartment Beecher was unsure, he felt emotionally drained and he stood uneasily in the living room. 

“Come on.” Vern grabbed his wrist and tugged him towards the bedroom. Beecher didn’t resist but he must have made some kind of sound because Vern glanced at him, “Just to sleep Beecher. You asked if you could just get some affection. Well I’m offering some affection.”

He wanted to ask if Vern was sure, if he was telling him the truth, because he didn’t have it in him to say no to the man, but all he wanted was to curl up and go to sleep. In the bedroom Vern stripped down to his boxers and a t-shirt and Beecher followed suit, waiting for Vern to get in bed before he approached. 

“Come on Sweet Pea, I’m not going to...” Vern’s face closed down and his words trailed off. It occurred to Beecher that Schillinger should probably talk to someone, because he was clearly dealing with his own issues, but he wasn’t going to be the one to point that out. Vern spoke again though, more confidence behind his words, “Come on Beecher.”

He crawled into the bed, turning on his side with his back to Vern like they had woken up. He inched backwards until he was pressed against Vern, and one big arm slid around his waist, pulling him close. 

It was fucked up but it was warm, and it was safe, and they both quickly were asleep.


	17. Chapter 17

A pounding at the door was slowly pulling Beecher out of his sleep. He snuggled back against Vern, no surprise this morning of who it was and tried to go back to sleep. Against his neck Vern spoke, “Someone is at the door. I have to get up.”

He made a sound of acknowledgement, or at least he tried. Vern pulled his arm away and Beecher whined, turning to face him and trying to get his leg over the other’s to keep him there, pressing his face against his neck.

It made Vern laugh as he worked harder to disentangle himself. “Jesus, get off me Beecher.” He finally got out and grabbed his pants, pulling them on as the pounding got louder. 

Sleepily Beecher finally sat up, realizing that the sound meant someone was at the door. He was suddenly awake, “Who’s here?”

“Not sure.” Vern got to the bedroom door and glanced back, and caught Beecher’s eyes and seemed to realize that he was scared. “Hey, relax. Get your pants on.” With that he stepped into the living room, pulling the door to the bedroom shut.

“Coming!”

The incessant knocking stopped when he yelled and he glanced through the peephole, and frowned. He pulled the door open but stood in the way so the person couldn’t come in. “Robson?”

“Vern!” The man shoved into the apartment, a duffle bag over his shoulder, and Vern glanced nervously at the bedroom.

“What are you doing here?”

“I just got out! Mark told me where you were staying. I thought I could stay here for a bit until I, you know, got a job. Got an apartment.”

“Uh, James.” Schillinger was at a loss, not sure how to handle the situation and before he could get a handle on it the bedroom door opened and he could only wince.

Beecher looked sleepy, just a pair of pants on, hair sticking up as he rubbed at his face. Vern was watching Beecher so he didn’t see Robson’s response, but he felt his entire body tense up. He quickly gave him a side look, “Robson, just stay calm.”

On the other side of the room Beecher had frozen, backing against the doorframe, eyes wide. “Sir?”  
“What the fuck is going on here?” Robson tried to shove past him towards Beecher, but Schillinger put his hand on his chest pushing him back.

“Just hold on.”

“Why the fuck is he here?”

Vern’s head snapped to look at Beecher who had moved halfway towards them and he didn’t expect him to be the one to start the trouble. “Beecher, get back in the bedroom.”

“The bedroom.  _ The bedroom _ .”

Despite him trying to keep them apart they were moving closer together and Vern finally moved away from Robson, moving towards Beecher. He was sure he would be the one that was easier to control. “Bedroom, go.”

Robson was right behind him though and he only had a moment to see the snarl on Beecher’s face, the rage before the two men were at each other’s throats. Beecher’s fist flew wildly and Robson shoved him off, grabbing him by the shirt.

Vern finally wrapped his arms around Beecher, pinning them down and lifted him off his feet, and the man squirmed and wiggled, trying to get free. While he was holding him he didn’t expect Robson to advance, and he managed to catch Beecher with a hard right hook before Vern realized what was going on.

“Robson, Fuck!” It set Beecher off, screaming and struggling and finally Vern just dragged him to the bedroom, opening the door and shoving him inside hard enough that he stumbled off his feet, landing hard on the ground. “Just stay the fuck there!” And slammed the door shut.

Beecher grabbed at it from the other side and he held the door handle, keeping it shut until he heard Beecher scream a ‘fuck’ and head further into the room. He let out a huff of air and looked back to Robson.

“What the fuck is he doing here Vern?”

Through the door Beecher yelled, apparently he wasn’t done. “Maybe he wants a job Vern! Too bad he can’t because he doesn’t have a dick!”

Robson stormed towards them, screaming at the door over Vern’s shoulder, “I still have a dick you cunt! Come out here and I’ll fucking show you!”

“Robson-”

“Try, it cock sucker!”

“Beecher-”

Robson slammed his hand against the door, just over Vern’s shoulder, “You should talk, last I saw you, you were sucking O’Reily’s cock-”

“And you were sucking Cutler’s. How is Wolfgang these days? Still fucking you up the ass?”

There was an inarticulate sound of rage from Robson and he was trying to shove Vern out of the way to get to the door handle, yanking against it but Schillinger gave him a hard shove back. He’d had about enough of this. “Go sit the fuck down Robson, or fucking leave.”

“Vern-”

“I just fucking woke up, I have a god damn head ache and I haven’t had any coffee. Go sit at the fucking table in the kitchen or fucking leave.” Robson glared and looked back to the door and Vern gave him a shove, “Not another word to him.”

Finally, grudgingly Robson turned and headed towards the kitchen.

Vern took a deep breath, and then turned towards the bedroom door. “Beecher, I’m coming in. Just me.” Under his breath he muttered, “Don’t shiv me or something.”

He opened the door slowly, and he would never ever admit that he was afraid of Beecher, but at least part of him thought he was going to meet a shiv on the other side of the door. He had seen a flash of something there, and he had an idea of what had helped keep Beecher safe in prison after he left. Because that had been pure crazy.

Beecher was sitting on the edge of the bed, twisting his shirt in his hands, and when Vern came in his eyes snapped behind him, his shoulders relaxing when it was just Vern as he shut the door. Vern glanced back that way too, “Beecher, what do you think I was going to do? Bring him in here to gang bang you?”

He shrugged one shoulder but Vern could see it on his face, it was exactly what he had feared. Great. He moved forward, reaching up to touch Beecher’s face, and at least he didn’t flinch away from him. The bruises he already had were just barely starting to fade and now his eye was swelled up again and Vern shook his head. “What is it about you that just makes everyone want to punch you in the face?”  
“Must be my charming personality.” Vern ran his thumb over the bruise, happy that at the very least Beecher was still making jokes. When he met his eyes Beecher’s voice lowered, “Why is he here?”

“You know as much as I do Beecher. He said he just got out and a mutual friend gave him my address so he had somewhere to stay for a few days.”

“He can’t stay here.”

Schillinger had to fight his first response to that, as it was he dropped his hand and stood up, “And you can tell me who stays in my apartment?”

Beecher searched his eyes and chewed on his lip. “Then I’ll leave. Let me just pack up my stuff and keep him the fuck away from me until I go.”

Beecher pushed to his feet but Vern grabbed his arm and pressed him back down onto the bed. “Don’t be so dramatic. You’re safe here, Robson isn’t going to hurt you.”

He raised an eyebrow and motioned at the eye and Vern shrugged. “You know what I mean.” He glanced towards the door. “Stay here, be quiet. Don’t start shit. I’m going to go talk to him and see what the hell is going on.”

Beecher’s hackles were up and his fists were clenched and Schillinger didn’t want to even think about how much damage he was doing to him, how much they were back sliding, but he wasn’t sure what to do about it. Finally Toby looked away, jaw clenched, “Yes,  _ sir _ .”

“Please don’t do that Toby, I’m dealing with this as much as I can. Robson and I were friends, I’m going to go talk to him. I’m not going to let him hurt you. Okay? Do you trust me?” He saw the look Beecher made and poked him in the chest, “Fine. Do you trust me about  _ this. _ ”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.” He stood up and got to the bedroom door but paused with his hand on it as he looked back to Beecher. “What you said, about Cutler. Is that true?”

Beecher licked his lips and leaned back on his elbows, and the grin that slid across his face was every bit as cold and cruel as Vern’s had ever been. “I don’t know, why don’t you ask him.”

Schillinger didn’t think he liked this Beecher, and he gave him a long look before he opened the door and headed into the kitchen, shutting it soundly behind him. 

Robson was sitting in a chair, elbows on the table, leaning into them and now that the initial shock has passed by Vern realized he didn’t look too good. Halfway to the kitchen he smelled coffee. 

“You made coffee?”

Robson nodded without looking up, like he was too exhausted to do anything else. “Yea, you said you hadn’t had any yet.” Robson finally looked up at him, “Vern, what the fuck is Beecher doing in your apartment?”

“It’s a long story.” He got a cup of coffee and sat down across from Robson. “I’ll get to him. What is going on with you?”

Robson licked his lips, nervous, as he stared at his own cup of coffee. “I just got paroled, I didn’t have anywhere to go.”

There was a crash from the bedroom and Vern winced, glancing at it, trying to decide what Beecher had broken. He shook his head and concentrated on Robson, “Why didn’t the brotherhood help you when you got out.” He hadn’t stuck around, not when he decided to change his life, but when he had gotten out they had given him some money, some help, enough to get him back on his feet.

He didn’t miss the cringe on Robson’s face, “I was kicked out of the brotherhood. In Oz.”

“What? Why?” Robson had always been loyal to the cause, he didn’t see anything that he would have done to get kicked out.

“I had to get surgery when I was in... I... for my mouth. And the donor wasn’t white.” He licked his lips nervously, darting a glance up at Vern before he looked away, “When they found out they kicked me out. Wasn’t pure enough anymore.”

“Robson.” It made several things click into place at once and he lowered his voice. “Cutler...?”

“I had a lot of enemies. Once the brotherhood didn’t back me, I... I needed protection from someone.”

“Jesus, Robson.” He rubbed his hand over his face. “For how long?”

“Last few months or so.” He leaned forward on the table, face earnest, “I had no choice Vern, please. You have to understand.”

Blindly he reached out to pat the man’s shoulder, trying to convey that it was okay. “Robson, it’s not... I will just give you some money you can get a hotel room a few nights, I don’t have much-”

“What?”

“I don’t have much money, but I can give you enough to stay somewhere a few nights.” He reached into the pocket of the jeans he was wearing from the night before and felt the money from Beecher’s tips and pulled them out, and the level of fucked up was almost too much to bear.

“I don’t want to go to a hotel, Vern. I want to stay here.”

“You can’t.”

“Why?”

Helplessly he motioned towards the bedroom, “Toby is staying here.”

“ _ Why _ ?”

Vern was torn between answering honestly, and some sick desire to keep the cred he had in Oz. Finally he shook his head. “I’m trying to help him out, I fucked up his life. I’m just trying to... fix it.”

Robson’s forehead creased at that and he glanced between Vern and the door before he leaned back in his seat. “You were both sleeping when I got here. He was in the bedroom. Where were you?”

Vern opened his mouth and shut it again, not sure how to answer. What to say. Robson looked like he was struggling to understand. “I mean... we’re not in Oz anymore, do you... is he your prag?”

It seemed absolutely ridiculous and Vern shook his head. “No, I’m not that person anymore. I don’t... I’m not.”

“But you’re fucking him? You’re gay now?”

“No.” He made a frustrated sound and snapped at him, “I’m not the one that has been getting fucked up the ass in Oz, am I?”

He expected Robson to get pissed, to take a shot at him, but the man abruptly crossed his arms, looking away, body tense. Eyes down. Just like Beecher when he snapped at him. Fuck. He was already trying to fix one prag, he couldn’t fix another one. 

“What the fuck did I do to deserve this?” Well, actually, Vern knew the answer to that one. He nudged the coffee cup in front of Robson towards him, “Relax. I’m sorry. You can stay here. But... you can’t start shit with Beecher.”

“You know what he did to me?”

Vern couldn’t help but wince and look down, a part of him curious but he looked up at met Robson’s eyes with no give, “Were you trying to force him to blow you at the time?”

Something flashed in Robson’s eyes, some kind of fear, before he covered it up and spoke at the table. “Yea.” He chewed his lip for a minute before he looked up at Vern, “I still didn’t deserve that.”

He shrugged because well, maybe he did, maybe he didn’t. Something occurred to him. “What happened to Cutler? How much time does he have left?”

“I killed him.” 

Vern choked on his coffee a little, he hadn’t expected that. “What?”

“I tricked him and I killed him. For what he did to me.”

“And you’re pissed Beecher bit you.”

Vern didn’t know if it was his instincts from being in prison, or the ones from being a dad, but he heard the door open and turned to look just as Beecher was slipping out of it. “I told you to fucking stay put.”

He eyed Vern, eyes sliding to Robson with a glare, before they went back to Vern. “I smelled coffee.” He edged closer, waiting to be told to go back and added, “I’ll be good.”

“Fine.” He pointed at Robson. “Do not start shit or you’ll be out on your ass.”

Beecher stayed as absolutely far away from Robson as he could, hugging the wall of the kitchen until he got his cup and he hesitated but moved towards the table. That surprised Vern, he expected him to go back to the bedroom, he probably should, but instead he pulled a chair almost stupidly close to Vern and sat down in it, his knee bumping against Vern’s. 

Vern turned to him, ready to scold him for antagonizing, sure that he was trying to get under Robson’s skin but he recognized the look on his face. The body language. He was scared, and he hadn’t sat so close to Vern to piss off Robson, he’d sat so close so Vern would protect him. “Beecher, I told you, you’re perfectly safe.”

“Why don’t you fuck off prag, we’re talking here.”

Though there was that flash in Beecher’s eyes, anger and rage, he only eased back and turned more towards Vern, nearly huddling against him. “Robson, what did I just fucking say?”

Robson fell silent, arms crossed, while Beecher huddled in his chair, his hands clinging around a cup of coffee, and didn’t they just make quite the happy little family. There was no way this was going to work. 

He still had the money in his hand and shoved it towards Beecher. If he helped Robson he would use his own money, Toby didn’t deserve to have someone else taking advantage of him. Beecher only stared blankly at him until Vern put the money back in his pocket.

“Why are you paying him?”

Robson’s voice was high pitched, nervous. Yea, Vern didn’t even really understand what was going on either, and Robson was dumber than he was. “I’m not, it’s his money.”

“My tips.” Beecher turned slightly towards him, “I’m a stripper.” And yea, that might have been intentional to antagonize Robson but he wasn’t done as Beecher added, “Vern works there too.”

Robson’s eyes snapped to him incredulous and he gave him a dirty look, “As a bouncer. Don’t be a dumb fuck.”

Beecher’s mouth quirked at that and Vern had to fight down the urge to do the same. As it was he dropped a hand to Beecher’s leg, almost out of habit, just to give him something to ground himself. Beecher looked up to him, “He’s staying?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m leaving.” Beecher tried to get up but Vern tightened his hand on his thigh, forcing him to sit still or really have to struggle. 

“No, you aren’t.”

“Just let the bitch leave if he wants Vern.”

Beecher whirled to look at Robson and bared his teeth at him, even as he huddled against Vern. “Fuck off Robson.”

“Big man when you got someone to protect you, aren’t ya?”

There was a pause and Vern could practically see what Beecher was going to say. He was sure it had the words prag and cutler in it, but he squeezed his hand harder until he was sure it hurt and Beecher went silent, looking down at the table.

Robson had been waiting for it too, he could see it on his face, but at Beecher’s response he hesitantly leaned forward, “That’s what I thought.”

“Maybe instead of snapping at each other everyone could just be silent as fuck and let me drink my coffee.”

“Sorry, sir.” Beecher sounded absolutely miserable, and Vern looked over at him, ignoring as Robson said something else. 

“Beecher. Hey.” He looked up at him and Vern touched his cheek, uncaring what Robson thought. “You’re okay, nothing has changed. Okay?”

“Robson-”

“Nothing has changed.”

Beecher met his eyes and sucked on his bottom lip before he tilted his head, a nervous glance towards Robson and his voice softened. “Nothing?”

It made Vern shift uncomfortably, just thankful that Robson was keeping his mouth shut. “Nothing.”

Beecher made a small sound before he pushed away from the table, taking his cup of coffee. He headed back towards the bedroom but he turned and pointed at Robson, “You touch me and you’ll lose a hand. And I don’t mean by him.”

He didn’t wait for an answer as he made it to the bedroom and slid inside, slamming the door shut. Vern watched him for a moment, trying to figure out what had just happened before he looked back to Robson and he raised an eyebrow. “He did shiv someone two days ago.”

“What?”

“I’m just saying, I’d give him his space.”

“What is really going on here Vern?”

It was now or never, and what did he have to lose anymore. Just like he had told Beecher in the club, he didn’t care what anyone thought. “I’m helping him get clean. Get a different job.” He rubbed the back of his head. “Kind of fucking him. I guess.”

Robson snorted at that, but he must have seen something to mellow him out. “I knew that he was into it, after him and that asshole were running all over Oz together, didn’t expect it from you though.” There was no condemnation in Robson’s voice, just humor. He guessed his run as a prag had changed the way some things were seen.

“It’s complicated.” He stood up, “You’re going to have to sleep on the couch, only one bedroom.”

“That you and that prag share.”

“You’re going to need to stop calling him that. Now.”

“Bitch then? Slut? Baby doll?” He paused and looked up at Vern, “Sweet pea?”

“Robson, you’re barely staying here. Don’t push me.”

“Right, right right. Beecher it is.”

He eyed Robson, and glanced at the bedroom, but knew that it wasn’t over. “Why don’t you take a shower, there are towels and stuff.”

“Thanks Vern.” He stood up and seemed awkward, “For everything. Thanks.”

Vern awkwardly patted him on the arm and nodded. He watched him till he was in the bathroom and the shower was going and then he trudged towards the bedroom, not looking forward to it. He didn’t knock this time, it was his apartment, and he wasn’t at all nervous about what Beecher was getting up to in there.

“Beecher?”

The lamp from the bed side table was smashed in the corner and he scowled, but Beecher was already on his knees picking it up and didn’t look at him when he came into the room. He shut the door behind him. “Toby.”

“What.”

“I know that this isn’t exactly...”

“I’m already living with one person that raped me. Might as well make it two.”

“You’re just being a bitch now.”

“Yea, yea I am.” He dumped the pieces of the lamp in the garbage and looked up at Vern, “I need to leave. I can’t do this.”

Vern moved forward quickly, catching Beecher before he got up off his knees, wrapping a hand in his hair to tilt his head back. He didn’t struggle against him, and Schillinger wasn’t even sure what he was looking for as he searched his face. Toby looked at him with wide eyes, hurt, scared and finally he let him go as he closed his eyes and rubbed a hand over his face.

“Fine. I’ll let him stay here tonight while we’re at work and tomorrow he can find a hotel.” He felt like he was betraying his friend, but he felt more responsible for Beecher. Robson had made all his own choices, and Beecher had his taken away. He shook his head, “I’ll let him know when he gets out of the shower.”

Beecher was staring at him like he didn’t really believe him and he settled back on his heels, “You’d really do that. For me.”

“I’m... I meant it when I said that I want to help you Beecher. I feel bad for Robson but that wasn’t my doing. What happened to you is. So, okay.”

Toby nodded his head and then put up a hand, asking Vern without words to help him to his feet and he grabbed his wrist to pull him up. “He can stay if he wants to. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have...”

“Are you sure Toby?”

He nodded, it made him uncomfortable, scared but he didn’t feel right asking Vern to turn his friend away. Even if his friend was a scum bag. “Please don’t make me say it again.” He took a deep breath, “Please don’t let him touch me.”

“Of course not, Beecher. He won’t come near you. He’s going to sleep on the couch and uh...”

Toby’s head tilted up and he looked amused, “Bedroom is ours now, then?”

“Yea, I guess so.”

Slowly Beecher moved towards him, though he nervously glanced at the door, but stopped when he was pressed against Vern’s front. It felt so wrong, so fucked up, but Vern’s arm curled around his waist instantly, holding him there. “Are we going to keep doing this?”

“What exactly are we doing again? Did we figure that out?”  
Beecher shook his head, a strangled laugh making it out of his mouth, “No, no we didn’t.”

There was a quick shock of something for Vern, the thought of Beecher on his knees blowing him with Robson just outside the door and it was a little too much like Oz. He dropped his arm and backed away a few steps. “I’m going to go talk to Robson.”

He had a moment to watch Beecher’s face fall before he covered it up, looking away. “Okay.” There was a beat but then Beecher looked back up at him, “Ashamed of it now that your buddy is back here, right?”

“I should have been ashamed of it from the first time I touched you.”

“Fuck you, Vern.” He moved on to the bed and curled up against the headboard. 

“Beecher, I don’t mean it that way.” He followed him on to the bed, grabbing his leg and giving it a sharp yank that pulled him flat on the bed. Beecher flailed and tried to get away, wiggling, but Vern grabbed his hips and held him still against the bed.

He didn’t waste any more time with words, he used his weight to force Beecher’s legs apart so he could kneel between them and wrapped his fingers in his hair and his mouth was on top of his. Beecher fought it at first, and he should stop, but he kept pushing him, his mouth brutal over his until he stopped fighting and grabbed on to Vern’s shirt, arching up against him.

His whole body responded to that and he ground down against Beecher, and he didn’t really want to think about how fast he got hard with the other man. Beecher’s knees pressed up against his hips, clinging to him, but he forced himself to pull back. To kneel up and ignore the whimper from Beecher when he pulled away.

“Fuck, Beecher.” He was panting, and off handedly he noticed the shower had stopped. He didn’t know when he had let go of Beecher’s hair to grab his wrists and pin them down, probably when he had struggled, but he was still holding them tight. “This isn’t right to do, not with him out there.” He had already started to win him back over and he spoke quickly so he wouldn’t misunderstand, “For you. He’ll think... and it isn’t fair for him to think that of you.”

Toby’s eyes were unfocused, body still trying to push up against Vern, and it took him a second to concentrate on what Vern was saying. “What?”

“I don’t want him to think that you’re...”

Beecher finally understood. “I am a whore though Vern, I don’t think you need to defend my honor.”

He shook his head and the word came out, “I don’t want him to think you’re a prag.”

“Ah.” He pressed up, trying to rut against Vern, “Okay.”

Vern leaned back over him and they were kissing again, rutting hard against each other, until Beecher pulled away and his hands went for Vern’s pants, trying to undo them. “Beecher-”

“Fuck me.” He wasn’t quiet, he didn’t know if Vern even noticed that. This fell into place so naturally, if Robson was going to stay there he wanted to make sure the man knew that he belonged to Vern, that he was  _ his _ , and it was something that he knew better than almost anything else now. 

Vern groaned and shoved off his pants, getting Beecher’s off until he was naked under him. He reached for the bedside table and yanked open the drawer, blindly looking for the lube that was there. That he had bought when he went to the bar without Beecher and had brought home, and he supposed he had already made his decision to keep fucking him. 

Beecher rolled over onto his stomach, face against the pillows and ass in the air and Vern was about to put some lube on his fingers when some tiny part of his brain finally kicked in. He stared down at Beecher, shoving his ass up and whimpering and as much as he wanted to continue he  _ knew _ it was wrong. Not like this. 

He dropped the lube back in the bedside drawer, just barely noticed Beecher glancing at it with a frown before he was off the bed and pulling his pants back on.

“Vern?”

“I know why you’re doing this. Why you’re doing  _ now _ , and you don’t have to.”

“Vern.”

“You don’t need to fuck me to feel safe, I’m going to go out and tell Robson he can stay here a night and then that is it. You can say whatever it is you want to say Beecher, but I can see what it is doing to you. This isn’t... I’m going to tell him he has to go.” 

Vern was out of the bedroom before Beecher could even roll over and argue with him, and found Robson sitting on the couch staring at a blank tv. He frowned and sat next to him on the couch. The man turned to look at him and he must have been able to read it on Vern’s face. “You aren’t letting me stay here.”

“You can stay tonight, and tomorrow I’ll help you find a hotel room, or an apartment, but... yea. Just tonight.”

“I don’t get it Vern, we’ve been friends for years, watched each other’s back. How does some little bitch prag fuck that up?”

Honestly, Vern wasn’t entirely sure himself. He shook his head, “I’m just trying to-”

“Fix things, yea, you said that.”

Beecher chose that moment to come out of the bedroom, face flushed red, but dressed and headed straight to the kitchen, mumbling about making lunch. Robson watched him, but didn’t say anything to him. 

He felt terrible. About Beecher, about Robson. It was so much harder than when it was just trying to half assed and clumsily get Beecher on the straight and narrow. Robson pushed to his feet and was heading towards the kitchen and he snatched his wrist but Robson just gave him an easy look. “I’m going to go talk to him.”

“Robson-”

“Just talk. I swear.” Vern started to get up but Robson shook his head, “Just me.” He didn’t like it but he nodded and tried to settle on the couch while Robson got closer to Beecher.

He was busy trying to get food ready, trying to figure out what to make for the three of them, because apparently that was his job now when a shadow fell over the table. Before he even looked up he knew it wasn’t Vern, it wasn’t big enough, and he looked over his shoulder at Vern watching them and tried to calm down. “What do you want?”

“To talk to you.” Robson slid into a chair at the table, “Just you and me.” Beecher glanced at him because he didn’t recognize the tone, had never heard anything from Robson that wasn’t smug or obnoxious and when he met his eyes Robson looked away but muttered, “Prag to prag. Yea?”

His stomach twisted suddenly at that and he managed, “I need to make lunch.”

“I’ll talk while you make lunch.” Robson’s hands were on the table and he was picking at his cuticle and it felt like it took a long time for him to talk. “You know what happened to me with Cutler.”

Beecher nodded without looking at him, cutting up onions. Robson was clearly waiting for some kind of verbal confirmation but when he didn’t get one he continued, “I killed him, just before my parole. Close enough that I’d be okay without protection, but longer than I would have liked to wait.”

“Good for you.” Beecher turned and leaned against the counter, knife still in his hands, “Are you telling me I should kill those that raped me?”

“Preferably not me or Vern. Keller-”

“He’s already dead.”

Robson stared at him for long moments before he let it go and shrugged, “And he didn’t rape you, right?”

“What do you want Robson? Do you want to bond over getting fucked up the ass against our will? Our own little support group?”

“Beecher-” He pushed to his feet but Beecher plastered himself against the counter, holding the knife out.

“Back up.”

“Yea, okay.” He slid back in the seat and there was a quick glance to Vern before he looked to Beecher. “I was a prag a week ago. I just need... I need somewhere safe for a while Beecher. You understand that, don’t you? Isn’t that why you’re here clinging to Vern like he’s the most important person in the world?”

It wasn’t what he had expected to hear, and it caught him off guard. “I’m here because Vern kidnapped me.”

“Kidnapped you?” Robson pointedly looked around, “It doesn’t look like you’ve been kidnapped.”

“It was temporary.”

“I just want somewhere safe Beecher, I’m begging you. This might be Vern’s apartment but I can see that it is you that is going to make this decision. How the fuck that has happened, whatever the fuck is going on here, please.”

They stared at each other for a long time and Beecher had the vague idea of Vern watching from the other room, though they had both kept their voices down enough so he couldn’t hear without needing it to be said. Beecher licked his lips, “I don’t trust you.”

Robson snarked out, “Like I trust you.” Before he leaned back and spoke again, meeting Beecher’s eyes, “The name calling... It’s just words Beecher. After Cutler... I have no plans to hurt anyone like that again. I didn’t know... I just didn’t know. I do now. I promise, I don’t plan on touching you.”

Beecher stared at him for a long time before he nodded and turned back to the counter, “Do you like onions in your hash browns?”

“Yea.”

“Okay.” 

Vern watched whatever the conversation that was going on seem to end, both of them significantly less tense, and wasn’t sure if he should intrude or not. Finally he couldn’t stand feeling like the odd man out in his own place. So he stood up and headed in the kitchen, watching as they both tensed, and he really hated feeling so out of place. 

“Everything okay?”

He slid into the seat next to Robson, watching Beecher cut up potatoes before his common sense kicked in. “You need help Beecher?”

“No, I’m good.”

Robson was looking at the table but he glanced at Vern, “He doesn’t mind if I stay, is it okay if I do?”

It hadn’t looked like anything violent happened, like he had been coerced. He was getting pretty good at reading Beecher’s body language and he hadn’t felt threatened. Hadn’t been nervous. “Toby?”

He glanced back and nodded, before going back to getting lunch ready. Vern leaned back in his chair and glanced back and forth between them, impressed that they managed to work it out. This had to be progress.


	18. Chapter 18

“Where are you guys going?”

“None of your business.” Vern grabbed Beecher’s arm when he dragged his feet and gave him a shove towards his boots. “Let’s go.”

Robson hovered near them, nervously glancing between them. “Can I come?”

“No.” Vern’s attention was fully on Beecher, he knew how anxious going to talk to his sister made him. He was still pulling on his first boot and Vern gave him a nudge, “Move it Beecher.”

Robson glanced back and forth between them, “Why can’t I go?”

“Because I said so Robson.” He glanced down at Beecher just in time to see him sticking his tongue out at Robson, and for the love of god, what was happening. “Beecher!” The man instantly looked contrite, obediently pulling on his boots. He actually kind of liked the side that Robson being there brought out in Beecher, now that he was sure of his place. 

“Vern-”

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and looked at Robson, and just that was enough to get the man to shut his mouth and go to sit on the couch, staring balefully at them getting ready to go. Beecher looked up at him, still sitting on the ground with his boots on, and made a face. “He’s bringing me to see a shrink.” 

Robson and Beecher met eyes and there was a stare off, for the 8 millionth time that day, and Vern grabbed his arm and yanked him to his feet just to end it. 

“Why?” Robson sounded confused, and Beecher was sure that something as simple as therapy was well beyond the Neanderthal. 

“We’ll be back later James.”

“What am I supposed to do?” 

“Watch tv. I don’t care.”

“You could do the dishes-”

Vern cut him off as he gripped Beecher’s arm tight, no give, and he dragged him out the door and down the hallway, not letting him go until they reached the stairs. Beecher indignantly straightened his shirt, but didn’t complain out loud. He had bigger worries than losing some face in front of Robson. 

They reached the front of the truck and Vern stared at him, refusing to go to the passenger’s side of the vehicle to open it for Beecher, making a point of going to his own side. He shouldn’t have been surprised when Beecher followed him, and he wasn’t sure if that was an improvement or not. He opened the door and let Beecher climb in first, automatically reaching out to grab his ass and hoist him up, taking a mean pleasure in feeling his body tense at the intimate contact. 

He pushed harder than necessary and sprawled Beecher out across the seats, and for a moment he was back in the bedroom, he was back in Oz, and he grabbed Beecher by the hips to hold him there, enjoying that moment between when he was trying to get his bearings and when he realized he was pinned down, caught over the bench seat. 

It was broad daylight out and he shouldn’t be touching him like that, shouldn’t be doing anything to even think about it. The struggles got harder, Beecher trying to twist around, kicking his feet out when he realized it wasn’t accidental that he couldn’t move. Vern needed this, just for a second. Robson in the apartment had his head all turned around and he just needed this submission, just for a few seconds. He wasn’t going to hurt him, but he found the words slipping out of his mouth before he meant to.

“Shhh, settle down sweet pea.” Vern slid his hands from Beecher’s hips to his thighs, putting just enough pressure on them that Beecher shifted his weight, spreading his legs even as he panted out little nervous breaths, but he didn’t struggle anymore.

He pressed over him, reaching up to grab his arms and pin them to his side. He rested his chin against Beecher’s shoulder, “If I wanted to fuck you right here, would you let me?”

“Vern-”

He used one knee to push his legs farther apart and now he could press his cock against his ass, settling in against him as he held his arms tighter. “Answer me.”

The body under him shifted, rubbing against him unintentionally, and he watched Beecher bury his face against the bench seat and all the fight went out of him. “Yes.”

“Right here, in this parking lot? Where anyone could see?”

His body shuddered as he sighed, and then he pressed back against Vern, pressed into his hands. “Yes.”

Vern rubbed his head against Beecher’s shoulder for a moment before he let go and backed up, letting Beecher scramble over to the other side of the truck. He climbed in after him and put the keys in the ignition, though he didn’t turn the truck on. He knew he had to say something, apologize, explain himself. “Beecher-”

“It’s okay.”

His mouth twisted, because it really wasn’t. “Beecher-”

“Sometimes I need to ... to give in. To submit. I’d imagine sometimes you need to ...” He made a motion with his hand. “To be in charge. To dominate. It’s okay.” Vern nodded at him, still not sure, but he was willing to take Beecher at his word for it.

They traveled for silence for a while before Beecher spoke up quietly from his side of the truck. “You should probably talk to someone too.”

“Probably.” 

Beecher was still a little shaken up by Vern holding him down, but he did mean what he said. That it was okay. He would rather Vern not, but at the same time that moment when he gave in was so ... freeing. It felt good to completely give up control under Vern’s hands, and he knew it wasn’t right. But that was what they were working on.

Robson being in the apartment had a different effect on him, and if he had to guess he would say it did on Vern too. He had stood up to Vern when he was on drugs and in a psychotic break, but Robson had been the first time he had stood up for himself on his own.

When he had been forced to his knees, already stressed out and exhausted from the riot, from the move to gen pop, roused in the middle of the night he had been confused. He had thought Robson was relatively harmless and it said a lot about how the way he thought had changed in prison that getting smacked in the face, intimidated into silence was barely a blip on his radar. That had been business as usual and he had taken the abuse in stride. 

So when he was being dragged out of his bunk and sleepily had reacted like he was still a person that had a choice in these things, he had been able to tell him to fuck off. The punch in the face though, the pain had laced through and woke him up and he was suddenly the helpless prag and he had obediently climbed to his knees, taking Robson’s cock down his throat like the good little bitch he was. 

Until he wasn’t. Until something had snapped and then  _ he _ had snapped. It had been what gave him space with the other inmates after that, not enough to keep the really bad ones away if he hadn’t found someone else to protect him, but enough that no one was going to be shoving anything in his mouth unless he agreed. 

Robson being there brought out an odd combination of fear and rebellion in him, and he wasn’t sure how to handle the two. With Vern he had angry moments, violent moments, but mostly he wanted to submit and do what he was told and find solace in that. With Robson, he went from cowering against Vern or huddling in fear to wanting to bite and scratch and make the other man bleed. He kind of liked it. With Vern there though, that disapproving glare on both of them he’d suppressed the urge to be violent. The urge to antagonize, to annoy, that was still in full effect though. And who knew that flipping off Robson, sticking his tongue out at him, could send him into more of a pissed off flurry than trying to hit him. 

“Beecher!”

His name being snapped made him flinch and he looked around, realizing that they were at the building again. He had been lost in thoughts, and hadn’t realized they were already there. He glanced around and gave Vern a sheepish look, “Sorry.”

“You okay Beecher?”

He nodded his head, because he was as much as he was going to be. He licked his lips, “Do I have to do this?”

“Are you going to ask me that every time?”

“Probably.”

“Wonderful.”

Vern waited a moment longer, like he didn’t want to go in there as much as Beecher didn’t want to, but finally sighed and got out of the truck, standing there holding the door open as he waited for Beecher to crawl across the seats and slide out. That was going on the list of things he wasn’t going to do anymore, because Toby was a full grown man and he could open his own door and get out of a truck on his own. He wasn’t his freaking kid.

Like it was a habit he grabbed onto Beecher’s upper arm and pulled him towards the building, not paying attention to the way Toby had to trot to keep up with him. They were nearly there when Toby stopped, yanking on his arm, forcing him to either stop or drag him. And really, either option was equally likely at this point. 

“What?”

Toby licked his lips and darted his eyes up and he tugged on his arm, “I’m already following you, I don’t know why you need to drag me around.”

Vern’s fingers tightened around his arm though, and he stared at Toby until he looked away, and then he realized what he was doing and had no idea why. Toby’s arm was let go so suddenly he stumbled, reaching up to rub at the spot Vern had been holding and he really didn’t know if the man was being over dramatic or if he really held him that hard. 

He started moving again, waiting for Beecher to move with him, and when the man fell behind he slowed down, rolling his eyes, his hand twitching with the urge to just reach out and grab him and make him move faster. They entered the building, people scattered around going about their normal day and Toby did tuck in closer to him, brushing against him. 

He led him, not sure Toby remembered the way, and at least the man seemed less nervous when they got to the office. He went to open the door and found it locked, frowning at it before he knocked on it, annoyed that he had to wait. Greta knew what time they were going to be there, this was all just a power play against him, he knew it. 

Beecher hummed under his breath, sounding nervous and it wasn’t until he tugged on his arm that Schillinger realized he had grabbed him again. Beecher glanced up at his face, and he was sure the anger at his sister was still on it and Toby looked away quickly and stopped fighting against the hold, mumbling out an apology. 

“It’s not you, Beech.” He softened his grip, but didn’t let go, and waited for the door to open. He was about to slam his hand against it again when it opened, Greta standing there with a big grin on her face that made him grind his teeth. “You knew we were coming.”

“I forgot it was locked, relax Vernon.” His gaze turned to Toby and the grin softened, “Hello Tobias, how are you doing today?”

Toby ducked his head and curled in towards Vern, and he got the impression of them exchanging a look. He forced himself to answer. “Okay.”

Vern snorted at that and pushed in past his sister, pulling Beecher in by his arm. “I fucked things up and he won’t say it, but I did.” He didn’t stop until they were in the office and he pushed Beecher down in the chair, stopping him when he tried to move down one. 

Realization kicked in and he grabbed Vern’s sleeve, “You said you would stay in here with me.”

“I’m going to be right out there. You’re not going to tell her shit with me here and we both know it.” He reached out though to grab Toby’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “Right outside there. I can be here in a second if something is wrong. Okay?”

It reminded him of how it had been after he had been Vern’s prag for a while, where the man didn’t have him right at heel all the time, but leaving his side had been terrifying. Though when Vern owned him he had never once suffered at anyone else’s hands, so he had to trust him. He nodded, mouth pressed into a tight line, and wasn’t sure he would say anything no matter what. Vern didn’t look entirely happy, either about his response or leaving, but he headed to the door and caught Greta there, stepping out and pulling the door shut behind him. Just before it shut Beecher heard him telling her that he needed to talk to her and then nothing.

He shifted awkwardly in his seat, not sure what to do with his hands. He had gone to couples counseling with his ex-once, and it had been uncomfortable then too. The door creaked and he sunk back into his chair, crossing his arms over his stomach, hopeful eyes looking for Vern all the way up until the door shut and it was just the two of them.

Greta smiled and settled into her seat. “How are you Tobias?”

“M’fine.”

He expected her to be impatient, angry, but she just looked at him. She picked up a pen and tapped it against the desk a few times before she spoke again, “I know this is a... different situation Tobias-”

“Call me Toby.”

Hearing her say his whole name, it was making him twitch. She nodded and continued, “I think that you probably need to talk to someone that is unbiased, and obviously this isn’t exactly professional, but I think that you might not find someone else to talk to. So I’d like to give it a try. And you know you are safe here, I won’t go back to Vernon with what you say.”

“I thought... can he come in here and sit?”

“No.” The word brooked no disagreement and she leaned forward against the desk, “No, he’s going to sit out there and you’re going to talk to me in here, okay?”

He shifted his weight, not sure how he felt about that. He knew what he wanted, but the authority in the voice was hard to ignore. Finally he glanced at the door once and nodded, “Okay. Can I go out there if I want?”

“No one is keeping you here against your will, Toby.” For a moment a look flashed on her face like she wasn’t quite sure she believed that, but it was gone quickly. “Why don’t we talk about this Robson that Vern said he is going to be staying with the... two of you.”

She said it like they were a couple living together and he thought about that for a moment before he forced himself to concentrate on the question. He realized that Vern must have told her something and he tilted his head, “What did he say about it?”

“That Robson was in with the both of you, that he was recently out of prison and had nowhere to go. He indicated that you and him had a history. So why don’t you tell me what is going on with all of that, because Vern seems to think that it is a big deal.”

“Uh...” That was a lot of information and he tried to think of where to start.

And maybe Vern’s sister was good at this because she made a hmm sound and nodded, “Why don’t we start with this history. You and Robson were in prison together, did you have much interaction?”

It was as good a time to test how she would handle the truth as any. He didn’t look up at her, dropping his hands to his lap so he could grasp them together. “There was a time we were moved in to Gen Pop when I was in, and I had... recently stopped...” He chewed on his lip. He couldn’t say Vern’s name. “I had belonged to someone and that had recently ended and I thought I was safe. Robson tried to force me to perform oral sex on him,” Once he started talking the words came surprisingly easy. “I bit off a chunk of his uh...” He looked up in time to see her eyes widen, but she didn’t look disgusted or angry, she only nodded.

“You were defending yourself.”

“Yes.” 

She nodded. “In that kind of situation Toby, you had to do what you had to. And this man that tried to rape you... he is the one that Vern is letting stay with you?”

“Yes.” The word sunk in and he jerked his head up, catching her eyes, feeling like he had to defend Vern just from the venom in that one word.

“He said no, though. He told him that he could stay tonight while we were at work, and then he had to leave because he knew it wasn’t right. That it would be... bad for me.” The extended eye contact was finally too much for him and he looked away.

“I see. But he is staying there?” 

Beecher nodded, “I talked to Robson, he had been... raped in prison. He asked if he could stay because Vern made him feel safe, like he makes me. It was my decision to let him stay.” 

“Why do you think you owe this man anything?”

“I don’t.” He made a motion with his hand, “I... I empathized. I can still do that.”

“How do you feel about him there?”

The thoughts he had slid through his brain, from hiding in a corner to ripping his throat out and he finally shrugged. He didn’t want to talk about Robson, he wasn’t going to tell her about Vern deciding not to fuck him and how useless that made him feel, and he tried to think of something he could tell her so Vern wouldn’t be disappointed.

He must have been silent for too long because he saw her move, getting his attention, “Toby, how do you feel about that?”

He licked his lips and then shook his head, speaking quietly, “Can I ask you a question?”

She seemed a little caught off guard but nodded, “Sure Toby, we are here to help you. Whatever you want to ask.”

He nodded and reached out to touch the desk, he remembered when he had a desk like that. When he was someone. He sighed and dropped his hand, trying to raise his eyes to meet hers though he only managed to make it to her shoulder.

“I... sometimes I have this need. I can’t really explain but I feel like I need to... Like things are going sideways and the only way to calm down is...” This was ridiculous, why was he even trying to ask this. “Never mind.”

Her head had tilted as she listened and he could practically see her mind working and when there was a flash of her eyes he thought maybe she had an idea of what he wanted. She leaned closer to him over the desk, “You like someone to take control, Tobias, is that it?”

“That’s too...” How to explain it? “That is too nice of a word for what I want.”

His face was flushed red and he wished he was anywhere else. He didn’t want to know what she thought of that and it seemed like forever until she spoke. “You like to be hurt? Do you feel better when someone is more... violent about it?”

He laughed, he couldn’t help it, because it sounded as ridiculous as he thought it did when someone said it out loud and it was a relief to laugh, actually laugh. He noticed that Greta startled, and seemed confused and he tried to calm himself, glancing towards the door. “I feel like I’m free when someone takes control... violently. It calms me, it makes me feel safe.” The urge to laugh again bubbled up because he was crazy, clearly.

“Ah.” She glanced towards the door too, and for everything that she said about not telling Vern it clearly colored her actions, what she said, what she did, and she looked back at him. “And you find this in Vern?”

He dodged the question, determined not to implicate Vern in anything. “I like the feeling of having no control.”

“Is it similar to how you felt when you drank? When you did drugs?”

He was already nodding before she finished, because he knew addiction inside and out and just because it was to a person instead of a substance it didn’t suddenly not make sense to him. “Once an addict, always one, right?”

“We both know that isn’t true Tobias.” 

It caught his attention and he leaned forward, and if she noticed the shine of intelligence she didn’t acknowledge it. “Are you saying that people can change? Really honestly change?”

She nodded, “Yes, Toby-”

He cut her off before she could continue, “Like Vern?”

It was gratifying to see her startled look, though he didn’t know why, this entire thing was to help him and he was being an ungrateful brat. She cleared it quickly and wagged her finger at him, “You were aiming for that answer, weren’t you?”

Shrugging he sat back and sighed, “This won’t help me, nothing will.”

“Don’t believe in therapy, huh?”

He shook his head, “No, I do. I’m just too broken.” It was clear to him and he didn’t wait for her to answer, just pushed to his feet and headed towards the door, yanking it open and looking for Vern. The man was leaning against the wall, looking bored, but shoved off in hurry when Beecher showed up in the doorway. “Beech?”

“I want to go.” 

Greta was coming up behind him so he scrambled towards the door but Vern grabbed his arm, stopping him, confused. “What happened?” He turned his attention to Greta. “What did you do?”

She made a frustrated hand movement, “Nothing.”

Vern tightened his hold on Toby who was pulling towards the door, squeezing until Toby subsided, standing still. Vern looked back to Greta and lowered his voice like Toby wouldn’t be able to hear it even though he was right next to him. “Did you do what I told you?”

“I can’t order him to get better Vernon.”

“He responds better to being told what to do-”

“Don’t you think that in itself is a problem?”

“How the fuck should I know, I’m not the therapist!” He looked to Beecher and searched him head to toe like he was looking for some kind of injury. “You need to talk to her Tobe, she’s going to get you better.”

“I just want to go home.”

Vern rubbed his head with his other hand, looking to Greta who shrugged. “If he doesn’t want to do it Vern I can’t make him.” She sounded serious, “He needs the help though. Being with  _ you _ is making this worse. If you really care about what happens to him he needs to do this without  _ you _ in the picture.”

Beecher whined, reaching out to grab on to Vern’s shirt, “No, please. Can we please just go home? I’m fine.”

Vern eyed him, unsure. “Tobe, I think that you need to talk with her.” 

“I want to go home.”

Vern stared at him and finally muttered, “Maybe you do need to do this without me.”

“There is no maybe Vern.”

“Greta, I heard what you said, I’m trying to-”

Beecher ripped his arm out of Schillinger’s grip and stalked towards the door, intent on leaving without or without Vern. He knew where the truck was, he didn’t need to stand here and listen to them argue over him. 

As the door shut he heard them still arguing and he wasn’t even sure the man knew that he had left. He headed out towards the front, blinking when he stepped out into the sunlight and looked for Vern’s truck. He found it and started heading towards it and made it about halfway there when he stopped, thinking about what he was doing.

What was stopping him from just walking away? He didn’t want to do this therapy thing, he didn’t want to work at a strip club, he didn’t want this  _ life _ . It was like it finally clicked into place for him and he stood there staring at the truck, wondering what he was doing. 

Of course he didn’t have any money or change of clothes or anything. He shoved his hand in his pocket, he didn’t even have money for a bus or anything like that. He was still thinking about it when someone grabbed his shoulder hard, spinning him around.

Vern looked worried, face red like he had run and he pulled him close. “Where the fuck were you going?”

He hoped the thoughts he had been thinking didn’t show on his face, the ones about taking off and leaving because he wasn’t sure how Vern would react. So instead he looked away and tried to casually shrug his shoulders, “I was going to the truck.”

“You weren’t done talking to her.” 

Beecher looked over Vern’s shoulder to see if his sister had followed and he didn’t see anyone. “She said I had to do this without you. I’m not going to do that Vern, I  _ can’t. _ ”

“I was right in the waiting room.” Beecher gave him a look and Vern was confused for a moment but then he made a sound of understanding, “You didn’t mean just here in the waiting room.” Vern loosened his grip and was frowning. “I thought you took off.” He searched Beecher’s face and dropped his hand as his mouth set in a line. “You were thinking about it.”

Beecher wasn’t sure how Vern knew that, he hated to think the man could read him that well, and glanced at the truck again. “I wasn’t thinking of  _ leaving _ , I just... what the fuck am I doing Vern? What the fuck are we doing?”

It was the question that had swirled around them from the moment they ran into each other at the strip club and the silence stretched on between them. Beecher threw his hands up in the air, “Yea, there isn’t an answer is there? There never is.”

The frustration was choking him and when Vern still didn’t come near him, didn’t try to grab him or pull him closer, he whined, forcibly moving into his space waiting for him to touch him. Vern’s hands were still down at his sides though and he looked up at him, trying to hide the hurt. “Do you want me to leave?”

“We’ve gone over this so many times Beecher.”

“But I haven’t gotten any answers. You can get your yayas helping Robson now, what the fuck do you need me for?”

Vern sighed and finally reached out, wrapping his hand around the back of Toby’s neck and pulling him forward until his head rested against Vern’s chest and he stroked his hairline. “Calm down Sweet Pea, come back in with me, okay?”

He shook his head, no energy in him to complain about the nickname but Vern gave him a tug and he moved with him. He was embarrassed now that he had stormed off and dragged his feet a little but followed Vern. An arm slid around his shoulders, pulling him close to Vern’s side, and it felt like he was trying to protect him.

As they got closer Beecher thought about what the argument had been about before he left and he spoke up, voice hesitant. “What did you tell her?”

“To tell you what to do more.” Vern didn’t even look embarrassed by it. “That you would... ya know. She couldn’t ask you stuff so much, some stuff she should just tell you. It makes it easier for you.”

Beecher rolled his shoulders and wasn’t sure if it made him so uncomfortable that it was true, or that Vern knew him well enough to know that. “You didn’t think she’d not like that?”

He caught an edge of a smirk on Vern’s face before he answered and he knew that pissing her off was at least part of his intention, “Yea, but it don’t make it less true Beecher. I didn’t tell her that to like... just that you won’t relax if she makes you make all the decisions.”

It was true and Beecher could only sigh as they reached the office again, Greta waiting outside the door. When they got there she gave him a smile and ignored Vern as she directed him to the office. Vern gave him a little shove and he wished he could stay with him but did as he was told and headed into the room, keeping his mouth shut when she purposely shut the door. She leaned against it and her smile was only a little strained. “I’m sorry about that Toby, that was very unprofessional.”

He shrugged his shoulder, tapping his fingers on his leg. Actually now that he was thinking about it he noticed that all the loose stuff, the small stuff, that had been on her desk before was gone. Ah, maybe she had noticed the letter opener missing. It made him grin and he should probably apologize. But he wouldn’t. “It’s fine.”

“What do you think about what he said Toby?”

“That I do better when I’m told what to do?” He was getting really sick of shrugging but he didn’t have anything else to express himself. “It’s true. Vern knows me better than anyone, it’s a bitch isn’t it?”

She smiled a little at that and nodded, “It is.” She pushed off the door and sat in her chair and leaned forward to rest her elbows on the desk. “What do you want to talk about Tobias?” 

It lasted nearly 21 minute before Beecher couldn’t take it anymore and asked for Vern, refused to talk anymore until Vern was with him, but it was an improvement. Greta looked pleased. “You did good Toby, you made progress.”

That he didn’t really know about. They hadn’t really talked about anything important, any of the big issues. Instead he had told her about his life in Oz a bit, about where he had been since Oz, and a little about his job. The closest they had gotten to anything real was when he talked a bit about his drugs of choice, and that was what had finally tipped him over the edge. 

When the door opened Vern was there in an instant like he had been waiting, and Beecher feared the man was annoyed he took so long but Vern was giving him an easy grin, clearly pleased. Beecher was on his feet and pressed against him instantly and Vern reached up to cup the back of his head, “You did good Beech, good boy.”

The praise relaxed him and he pressed in to him, head against his shoulder, uncaring of what Greta thought of it. He liked pleasing the man. It felt good. Vern let him go and he stepped back obediently, glancing at Greta, “Thank you.”

“I look forward to our next chat Tobias.” She pressed her lips together but looked at Vern and gave him a look that was neutral, and it was an improvement at least. “Vernon.”

“Thanks Greta, I’ll call you and set up the next time.”

“Just remember what we talked about.”

He winked at her, clearly amused that it infuriated her, and nodded, “Of course.” With that he ushered Beecher out, holding his wrist as they moved towards his truck. He let go of him when they reached it and even though Beecher wanted to do what he had been, which felt a little like hiding, he headed around to his own side of the truck, opening the door and climbing in without Vern’s help.

For a moment he thought he saw a flash of disappointment on Vern’s face but it was gone as quick as it was there and the man patted his knee when he climbed in the truck. “See, you’re doing better already.”

And maybe he was. He felt like it. Like something was slowly settling in to place and the first piece had fit in. So he nodded and buckled his seat belt, “Thank you Vern.”

It was impossible to miss Vern’s reaction, that he didn’t like that, but he didn’t argue with him. “You’re welcome Beech. Let’s get home.”


	19. Chapter 19

As Vern unlocked the door there was a noise from in the apartment and he paused before opening it, tilting his head. He glanced at Beecher who looked unconcerned. Finally Vern pushed the door open and Robson was just right there at the door, blocking it, nearly bouncing on the balls of his feet. 

“Jesus James, back the fuck up.” Vern put one hand to his chest and shoved Robson back, giving them enough room to get into the apartment. “You’re like having a fucking dog, waiting at the door and everything.”

Robson looked like it hurt his feelings but he moved back, and it did look like he had just been waiting for them to get back. Beecher glanced around the apartment, and funny how he was starting to think of it as his apartment, and realized that it had been tidied up. Dishes put away, maybe vacuumed, nothing big just enough that he noticed. Vern wouldn’t though. 

Robson was currently hovering around Vern, looking hopeful, and Beecher brushed past him heading towards the kitchen. There was a weird jealous twist in his stomach, because if anyone should be begging for Vern’s attention it should be him. It was already late afternoon and he was going to get something to eat and then he was going to get some sleep before work.

In the living room Vern was trying to get his boots off and James was talking, but Beecher didn’t bother to work out what the man was saying, and only paid attention when there was a sudden roar from Vern telling him to shut the fuck up.

Even though it wasn’t at him Beecher still cringed, stomach clenching, and couldn’t force down the surge of empathy as he watched Robson respond the same way, stumbling back from Vern. They both had frozen and Beecher tried to keep his mouth shut because who gave a fuck if that scumbag was unhappy but all the same he called out. “I’m making dinner. Place looks nice, you make a good maid Robson.”

He couldn’t just say it, couldn’t help him, but at the words Vern glanced around and Beecher was willing to bet he still couldn’t tell the difference. “You cleaned?”

Robson shrugged, grimacing like he was embarrassed. “There was nothing else to do.”

Schillinger turned to face him fully, “Beecher cleans.” For a moment Beecher was indignant, because if someone else wanted to clean that was fine with him but Vern must have realized that it didn’t make much sense and shook his head. “I mean when he is nervous. Unsure. That is something that Beecher does. Fuck Robson, you really were a prag, weren’t you?”

“I told you that.”

“Yea, but I didn’t really...” Vern trailed off and Beecher watched his body language soften towards Robson, like it did with him. To cover that he was practically choking on jealousy he yanked open the fridge and started pulling out stuff for dinner. For a moment he thought about being spiteful and only making enough for him and Vern. Hell, only making enough for himself, but that would be admitting that it bothered him and he wasn’t willing to do that. 

He cut up vegetables and turned the oven on and did all the prep on autopilot and he was halfway through making the meal when he felt Vern over his shoulder and he wasn’t sure how long he had been there. “What do you want?”

Vern gave him space, leaning against the wall, and Beecher took a quick glance to see where Robson was. The man was sitting on the couch, sulking, and Beecher barely hid the grin. Vern nodded towards the food, “You know before you came here I ate those meals every day. The freezer ones.”

“You’re welcome.” Cooking was something he enjoyed, he had always loved making dinner for his whole family, for his kids. To distract himself from that thought he tilted his head towards Robson. “What did you do to him?”

“Do you care?”

“Not really, no.” Vern stayed over his shoulder as he cooked, watching what he was doing, and it made him nervous. It was only a matter of time and finally a knife slipped as he was cutting and he got his finger, yelping as he dropped the knife. 

Vern was on him immediately, grabbing his hand and wrapping a paper towel around it, holding it up over his head before Beecher could even say it wasn’t that bad.

He tried to pull away but Vern had a death grip on his hand, dragging him towards the bathroom, ignoring Robson asking what had happened. In the bathroom Beecher could only look at Vern in amusement, watching him fuss over the cut, muttering to himself if Toby would need stitches. It was a good cut but it wasn’t anywhere near the worst that had ever happened to him and he just wanted to slap a band aid on it and get back to cooking.

Yanked out of his thoughts when there was antiseptic poured on it he yelped, trying to yank his hand back. Vern pulled him in closer by it, “Shh. It doesn’t even hurt.”

“Fuck you!” The sting was enough to make him struggle even though he knew it was necessary, and even Vern admonishing him for being childish didn’t make him stop. 

In fact the man looked fairly amused by the whole thing and moved until he had Beecher pinned against the sink to keep him still as he finished cleaning it and put a bandage on it, securing it with medical tape and Beecher wondered why out of everything the man had a first aid kit with that range. Barely anything to cook food but a first aid kit, maybe some things were more ingrained that he would like to think.

“There, quit being such a baby.”

The door to the bathroom was open, a full view to the living room, but they both seemed to realize how close they were at the same time and Vern leaned down, holding Beecher’s face still as he kissed him. 

The concern he had shown, the single mindedness that Vern had patched him up, won over any resentment he still had from earlier and he pressed up to his tiptoes into the kiss. Injured hand back against the sink and his other hand going to Vern’s arm. His head tilted and he was busy trying to suck Vern’s tongue when there was a disgruntled sound from the living room, making them pull apart. 

It had surprised both of them, the kiss had just seemed so natural when they were like they were, after Beecher had been hurt and Vern’s adrenalin was spiked with worry, and they both looked out at the same time at Robson standing there, looking frustrated. Confused. Beecher supposed knowing what was going on and seeing it was different. He could relate, he was still confused about it too. 

Vern muttered what sounded like an apology and backed off, reaching out to check Beecher’s hand one more time before he was out of the bathroom, brushing past Robson to drop onto the couch, acting like whatever crap that was on the tv was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen.

It left Beecher and Robson staring at each other and Beecher looked away first, blushing, before he headed back into the kitchen to finish what he was doing. Once he was in there he could feel someone at his back and assumed it would be Vern, but a glance and it was Robson and great. That was just what he needed.

“I cleaned up the blood.”

The counter was cleaned, the rest of the stuff he had been cutting up was done, though not nearly as neat as he did it but it was done. He looked back to the man and caught the look on his face. Needy, desperate, and in that one moment he realized how far he had come even if he hadn’t thought it. Robson was where he had been a year ago, and seeing it he could see that he was getting better. Even if he hated the man it gave him something to hold on to. To know that he was making progress no matter how slow. So he only nodded, “Thanks.”

Robson nodded along as well, and then headed back to sit next to Vern. Beecher turned back to the food with a lot to think about.

They all ate around the same table like some parody of a happy family, and despite the progress he was making, the epiphanies Beecher felt like he was so close to having, he made sure that he sat close to Vern. Staking his claim. Oh, how fucked up that was. 

Touching his knee to Vern’s, leaning in to him, making sure that Robson knew who the favorite prag was and he’d done so well today that he just let his brain make that connection, to think that thought without berating himself for it.

Robson didn’t seem to notice. After he had caught them kissing it seemed like something had changed and Toby wasn’t sure what. The man wouldn’t really look at him, mostly ignored him, but gave him space. 

After they ate Beecher stretched, glancing at Vern, unsure. “I’m going to get some sleep before work.”

Vern absent mindedly nodded, though he didn’t move. The man had to work too, he needed sleep and Beecher pushed to his feet waiting for him to say he would join him. But he was still talking with Robson and finally Beecher frown and headed towards the bedroom. He tried not to slam the door, tried not to act like a child, but he couldn’t help it a little bit. 

He shucked off his shirt and pants, crawling in to bed in just his boxers, and laid there watching the door for at least 10 minutes before he realized that Vern wasn’t coming. With a huff he rolled over on his side and pulled the blankets up around him, trying to get to sleep. There was suddenly laughter from the living room, the two men clearly found something funny, and Beecher couldn’t help but think it was at his expense. The logical part of him pointed out that they were probably watching tv, it probably had nothing to do with him, but it didn’t make him feel any better.

A glance at the clock said that he needed to get some sleep. Let Vern be tired that night. It wasn’t his responsibility. Closing his eyes he pressed his face against the pillow, willing himself to sleep.

The weight shifting on the bed woke Beecher up and he groggily opened his eyes, focusing on Vern sliding under the covers next to him. He glanced at the clock and it had only been an hour and spitefully he wondered what Vern and Robson had been doing. 

Vern wrapped an arm around his stomach and pulled him close and he let him, but kept his body stiff, refusing to relax against him. The man noticed right away, “Toby, what’s wrong?”

“What were you guys doing?”

The bitterness wasn’t hidden at all and Vern chuckled against his neck, “Are you jealous?” The arm around his middle tightened, pulling him closer until their bodies were flush against each other and Vern nuzzled against the back of his neck. “We were watching tv, I felt bad that he was going to be alone tonight. That’s all Sweet Pea.” 

Beecher tilted his head, more to talk than to give Vern access to his neck, but hte man took it all the same. “You had stopped calling me that.”

Vern was sucking on his neck, biting, but pulled away to mumble against his neck. “You like when I call you that.”

He shifted his weight, because it was true. When he used it as an insult, when they were fighting it made his blood boil, but when he was already submissive, when he was held in his arms and it was spoken with that edge of alpha it made him shiver. When he moved back he felt Vern hard against him, grinding against his ass, and his own cock hardened.

“Vern-”

“It’s okay Toby, you don’t have to. I know with him out there you aren’t-”

He ground back hard against him, grabbing the hand Vern had around his stomach and pushing it down until the man was palming his cock through his pants. Too many false starts and teases since Robson had gotten there and he wanted to be fucked. Needed it.

The hesitation disappeared from Vern’s movements and his hand slipped down Beecher’s shorts, finding his cock and stroking him. With a sigh Beecher leaned back against him, rocking his hips, reaching down to push his shorts down his legs, kicking them away. Behind him Vern did the same until they were both naked and Beecher couldn’t help the moan as Vern’s cock slid against him, hard and big.

“Please.”

“Come on Sweet Pea.” Vern let go of his cock and nudged him until he rolled on to his stomach, spreading his legs and pushing up to his knees. Vern grabbed his hips and pressed on them until Beecher moved back to flat on the bed, his cock buried against the soft sheets and Vern reached for the lube. 

Vern slid one finger in him, slowly, gently and Beecher wanted more. He wanted it faster and harder but pressed against the bed like he was he could only take what Vern gave him and he whined. “Shh.” One finger moved slowly stretching him, not quite brushing his prostate and it seemed to go on forever before it changed to two fingers. Beecher tried to spread his legs more, tried to raise up his hips but there wasn’t anywhere to go. The sheets offered no friction to his cock and he whined again, trying to move. 

Vern pressed over him even as his fingers moved faster, hitting his prostate every other thrust, pulling out with a slow drag before slamming back in. Vern kneed his legs apart a little more until he could settle and now his cock nestled against the underside of Beecher’s ass as he rutted against him. 

“Please, Vern, please.”

“Please what?”

Beecher wiggled and pressed back against the fingers, crying out when a third was added and he was nearly frantic with the need to get fucked. He didn’t remember sex being this good before. Vern’s words bounced in his head and he tried to figure out the answer he was looking for, “Please, sir.”

Vern grunted and his cock twitched against Beecher and he spoke in a low rumble, “I was looking for a please fuck me, but that will do too.”

The pressure on his hips finally eased and Beecher scrambled up to his knees, pressing his ass back, moaning loud as the tip of his cock dragged against the sheets in sweet friction. He dipped his hips down lower to do it again but Vern grabbed his hips and pulled him up, taking away even that small amount of touch and Beecher whimpered. The fingers slid out of his ass and it made him wild with lack of stimulation. He didn’t have much time to fret because something thicker than a few fingers was pressing at him. 

Beecher dropped his head to the pillows, burying his face in them as he cried out, Vern was so fucking big and he always seemed to forget that until the man was nearly splitting him open. His knees pressed farther apart to ease the pressure, focusing on Vern’s hands on his hips. The grip bruising and painful and so good. 

“Oh fuck.” Vern was fully seated and leaned over him, pulling his head up out of the pillows to kiss him at the awkward angle before letting him go. He didn’t move yet, just shifted his weight side to side, making Beecher groan and arch his back, trying to get more movement.

Slowly he slid out, savoring this after he had denied himself it before, the memory of pinning Beecher down over the truck seat coming to mind and if possible his cock got harder. He moved back in as slow just to drag those sounds out of Beecher, the wild needy sounds, and they were so much better than the fear ones. Beecher desperate for him was better than terrified of him any day, and maybe that meant he was growing as a person too.

Enough fucking around, he still wanted to get some sleep before work, and the next thrust slammed in to Beecher so hard if he didn’t have his hips he probably would have toppled over. He didn’t relent, fucking him at just that angle that drove the man wild, Beecher’s hard cock swinging under them with the momentum, just far enough of the sheets that he couldn’t get any friction. The headboard slammed into the wall at a steady rhythm but Vern couldn’t bring himself to stop, to move so it didn’t do it, all he wanted was to cum up Beecher’s ass, to mark the man as his while Beecher moaned and begged for it.

His hand went around Beecher’s hip, fingertips just barely teasing against his cock, thumb brushing the tip where Beecher was dripping precum, so ready it wouldn’t take much. “Do you want to cum Toby?”

“Please, sir, please, please.” 

His own climax was close and he stroked him with a firm hand, pulling the man to him, but stopping when he was too close, unable to help himself from getting the man to beg. He pulled his hand completely away, “You come on my cock or you don’t come at all.” The threat wasn’t in his voice though, instead he was playful, relaxed and at the words Beecher shoved back harder, his body moving towards his own climax.

Watching the man fuck himself on his dick was enough to pull him over and he tightened the hold on those hips as he ground in to him, thrusting hard directly into Beecher’s prostate and despite what he said he wrapped a hand around the man’s cock and stroked him fast, pulling him over the edge as well. Beecher clenching around his cock made him grunt, and he was vaguely aware of the man mewling beneath him, panting. 

Vern dropped against him, his cock buried deep inside the man, and sighed contentedly against him. Beecher squirmed under him but only to get comfortable and then settled, his head turned to the side to try to see Vern but he finally gave up when he couldn’t and flopped against the bed. “Good.”

“What?” Vern moved them until he was spooning the man, pressed up against his back, covered in sweat and cum and he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“That was good.”

“It sure sounded like you enjoyed it.” He expected some kind of snarky response but Beecher was clearly almost asleep already, and he just pulled him close. “It was good.”

A hum of agreement and it was only a few more moments before Beecher was sound asleep and Vern double checked that the alarm clock was set before he curled around him to do the same. A small part of him wondered what Robson thought of it, he knew that there was no way the man didn’t know what had been going on, not with the way Beecher yowled like a cat in heat. He was past being embarrassed and he just felt... unsure somehow. Pushing it aside he closed his eyes, joining the man in sleep.


	20. Chapter 20

Beecher woke first, feeling gross and sticky and trapped under Vern’s weight. “Ug. Get off me.” He couldn’t bring himself to sound less hostile, even though he wasn’t really feeling particularly upset. It didn’t matter since Vern barely roused but he managed to get him to roll off him enough that he slid out from under him. The clock said he still had an hour before the alarm would go off and he touched his belly, frowning at the dried cum. 

He glanced around for a towel, finding one on the floor and wrapped it around his waist. He needed a shower but he didn’t really fancy going out of the room in just the towel, but it seemed silly to get dressed for just the two steps it would take. He didn’t even know if Robson was out there. Well he probably was, where else would he have gone.

Standing at the door for five minutes he finally convinced himself to stop being such a wuss and pushed the door open. 

Robson was sitting on the couch, the tv on, and he glanced in the direction of the door when it opened. His eyes scanned Beecher for a moment, before going over his shoulder. When Vern didn’t follow him out Robson turned his attention back to the tv. 

Beecher licked his lips, it was more than he had expected and he quickly slunk into the bathroom. Once the door was shut he let out the breath he had been holding, and turned on the shower. It didn’t take long to heat up and he jumped in, scrubbing at himself quickly. His hand slid over his cock, giving him a half hard on as he thought about the ache in his backside, the bruises on his hips and he gave in, stroking it to the memories of getting fucked by Vern. 

There was none of the normal shame that came with it, and he got off quickly, shoving down any sound he might have made. Afterwards he finished the shower quickly, drying off. He wished he had brought some clothes with him now, but it was still a quick moment back to the room. He couldn’t help peeking out the door before he made the dash, and he laughed at himself as he closed the bedroom door behind him. Vern was still out like a light and he got dressed quickly and then realized he either had to stand in the room till the alarm went off or go out and face Robson.

Which was ridiculous of course. He finally opened the door and crept out, heading towards the kitchen. There wasn’t really anything for him to do when he got there though, it looked like someone, and who was he kidding it had to have been Robson, had already cleaned up. He moved things around for a few minutes before he turned towards the living room, frowning when he realized Robson was watching him, “What?”

“Where is Vern?”

“Sleeping still.” He licked his lips and it was awkward. It wasn’t like they had anything to talk about. He glanced at the tv and winced at how he sounded, “What are you watching?”

“Are you guys like... together? I mean...” Robson looked away and he looked like he was blushing. “It didn’t sound like he was forcing you.”

“He wasn’t.” It wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have and he didn’t understand why the man had been asking, but it made it through suddenly and his stomach twisted and it hurt to see someone hurt like he had been no matter who it was. “No, it is... ya know. Consensual.”

He turned back towards the kitchen and opened the fridge just so he wouldn’t have to look at the man. He had reassured Robson that Vern wasn’t going to rape him, or at least he was pretty sure that was what he was concerned about, and it was all the bonding he could handle, but when he closed the door with a soda in his hand Robson was standing right there.

“Jesus!” He dropped the soda in surprise, not expecting the man to be so close. He bent down to grab it and shoved it back in the fridge, grabbing another one. “Back up.” There was a frightened squeak in his voice that he hated, because he thought he was over that, but with the man suddenly so close and Vern all the way in the other room sleeping he couldn’t help it. 

Robson moved closer though, looking at him hard and Beecher gave ground as he took a few quick steps backwards. At that Robson froze and took his own step back. Beecher wasn’t sure what was going on, and he didn’t like it. Robson put up both hands, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Bullshit you didn’t.” His voice was a little stronger that time and he tried to move around Robson but the man grabbed his elbow, stopping him. 

“Hold on.”

“Let me go.”

“I’m just trying to talk to you.” With the hold on his elbow Robson backed him up until he bumped into the table and Robson pushed him to sit in the chair. 

Beecher swallowed hard, trying to hide his anxiety, and managed to get out, “I’m going to tell Vern and you’re going to be out of here.”

“I know, I know. Relax.” He sat across from Beecher and when the man sat frozen he reached out to open the soda and push it towards Toby. He reached out automatically to snatch it away, worried that Robson would take it, that they would be back to the games they had played in Oz.

Robson’s mouth twisted and he finally spoke, “You lied to him about Keller.”

It wasn’t what Beecher had expected and he shifted his weight suddenly, hand going for a shiv he wasn’t carrying, and bared his teeth. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Robson leaned back a little, and there was a small glimmer of victory on his face, “You told him that he was dead. Last I checked he was still sitting on death row.” He moved closer, “For killing people for you.”

Beecher took a moment to steady himself and then forced a calm, sipping his soda as he leaned back in his chair, “He got what he deserved.”

Tilting his head towards the bedroom he spoke low, “And you got him just as wrapped up as you did Keller. Is he going to get what he deserves too?”

“You have no idea what you are talking about Robson.”

“I don’t?”

“Keller used me. He didn’t kill anyone  _ for _ me, he killed anyone I talked to. He tried to kill Ryan and that got him caught because you don’t fuck with Ryan.”

“Keller is alive?”

They both startled, eyes going to Vern in the doorway and Beecher cringed away because he knew that he had been hiding it, and he wasn’t sure if Vern would care or not, but he hadn’t wanted him to know.

“He’s on death row.”

Schillinger moved into the kitchen until he was leaning against the table, looking at Beecher, “You lied to me?”

“He’s as good as dead. Death row with enough murders under his belt that no one is changing that. No matter how hard they try.” He gave it away, he could hear it in his voice, pain and desperation and so what if he had asked his family to help. Begged his father to get the man off death row, to do anything to save him even when he knew how bad he was. Knew the kind of person Chris Keller was but he didn’t care. He just  _ wanted _ him. And it was clear in his voice.

He rocked to his feet and chucked the can into the sink, shoving past Vern and heading for the bedroom. Once he was in he slammed the door and yanked open the top drawer where he knew Vern had been stashing all his money when he handed it over. He counted it, there was enough there to get him somewhere, anywhere but here. He’d get farther away, he’d break his parole, and by this time next week he could be back in Oz. Whatever Ryan had said before, once he was there, once he was available for sex, he would change his mind.

The door started to open and he quickly shifted his weight, hiding what he was doing. Vern leaned against the door, “Toby, come here, it’s okay.” He moved into the room and he shut the door behind him and his voice came out with more authority, but still soft. “Come here, Toby, I’m not mad.”

He shoved the money in his pocket as he stood up and turned towards him, moving stiffly. He eyed him for all the signs of violence to come but there weren’t any, his body was relaxed and Beecher moved towards him. Before he even reached Vern he was talking. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to lie to you... Keller... he’s dead. There is no saving him. And it’s for the best. You taught him real well.”

Schillinger pulled him close, against his chest, “I get why you lied Toby, you don’t have to be scared.” He rested his hands on Beecher’s hips, sliding down over his pocket and stopped, feeling it before he reached in his pocket to pull out the money. “What is this?”

“It’s my money.”

Vern looked at the money in his hand before he made a point of stepping past him to put it back in the drawer, shutting it. “You were planning on leaving Toby?”

He opened his mouth to lie but the words didn’t come out, and he shook his head. “I was going to go somewhere and break parole.”

“I knew Robson being here would be bad for you.” He pushed Beecher to the bed and once he sat down on it he moved to the other side of the room, getting his clothes together for the night. “Have you been to see Keller at all?”

“They won’t let me have visitation with him.”

“The prison?” 

He glanced up because that was odd but Beecher was shaking his head, “Ryan.”

“Do you want to visit him, Beecher?”

He thought about it for a moment, there was a flash of what it would be like to see him, to touch him but he shook his head. What would Keller think of him shacked up with Vern Schillinger of all people. “No. He’s dead as far as I’m concerned Vern. I wasn’t lying about that.”

“Okay.” 

Beecher chewed on his lip, “Robson thinks I’m trying to use you.”

There was laughter at that, sudden and real, and Schillinger shook his head. “Like you could even if you wanted to. I know you inside and out Beecher, you can’t hide anything from me. Robson should know that.”

He nodded along, he wasn’t sure if it was true, but it meant Vern was calm. And it was mostly true anyways. “He’s just scared.”

“That I agree with.” Vern finished getting his stuff together. “I’m going to take a shower. You going to be okay? Do I have to ask Robson to keep an eye on you and make sure you don’t leave?”

The trapped feeling wound around him, and he nearly choked on it, because having one of Vern’s henchmen right there keeping an eye on him was just too close. He shook his head, refusing to meet Vern’s eyes. “I won’t go anywhere.”

Vern got close enough to chuck him under the chin, “I’m just kidding you Beecher, about Robson, he won’t lay a hand on you. But don’t leave, okay?”

“I won’t.”

Vern grabbed his arm and turned him towards him, pressing their lips together in a kiss, surprisingly gentle. “You’re getting there Beecher. I’m proud of you.”

He nodded and Vern went to get in the shower, sure that Beecher would stay put. He waited until he heard the shower running to yank open the drawer and shove the money back into his pocket, moving quickly. He headed out of the bedroom, glancing at Robson on the couch before he went straight to the door to pull his boots on. That got Robson’s attention.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting ready for work.”

Robson was watching him and he could see the gears trying to work, “You don’t leave for a while. You and Vern go together.”

“I just have to do something quick. I’ll be right back.” The panic was starting to make it in to his words, and he glanced at the bathroom for probably the eighth time. He got his boots on and stood up just as Robson did, moving towards him.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to go anywhere.”

“Says who?”

Robson reached out to place his palm against the door, holding it closed with his hand. “Vern. He didn’t say anything about you leaving.”

“He’s not the boss of me Robson, now move.”

Robson glanced back towards the bathroom and it was all it took. Beecher swung his fist, catching him with a good hit while he wasn’t paying attention and when Robson stumbled he took the opportunity to grab the door and yank it open, dashing through it. Slamming it shut behind him to give him a few more seconds and he took off down the hallway.

He didn’t slow down, didn’t look back, cutting around the back of the building and not stopping until he was a good couple blocks away, not even sure if anyone was following him. If Robson gave it a moment of thought he should realize that he had wanted Beecher gone, and now he was gone.

Where he was going was another question. He was going to be in so much trouble when he didn’t show up to work. He didn’t even have a cell phone to call in or anything. Did they even make payphones anymore? 

Going back to Colin wasn’t an option, not after he stabbed him, and he found his mind leaning towards another option. He could go get some drugs, that was a possibility. His hand went down to his pocket and he touched the money, moving again towards where he worked. He wasn’t going to work, but the neighborhood was a good place for him to get a fix. 

Not that he really wanted one, it wasn’t the crazy ache that it had been before, and really he didn’t want to give up the progress he had made, but he needed something. If Vern wasn’t going to fill the void, then something had to.

“Beecher!”

He startled and ducked against the building when he heard someone call his name, and he was sure he had gotten far enough away that they shouldn’t have been able to find him. It was Vern’s voice, worried and insistent, but he didn’t sound angry and Beecher just didn’t trust that.

“Beecher! Where the  _ fuck _ are you?”

That was Robson, coming around the other corner and he was fucked. He knew the one that he would rather run in to though, and he crept around the corner, moving out to the sidewalk and stood there until Vern spotted him. It had not been a very successful running away. 

“Vern-”

Schillinger hustled to him and grabbed him, holding him close as he looked him up and down like he might have been injured in the 5 minutes since he left the apartment. He looked over his shoulder and yelled, “Robson, I got him.” He looked down at him, “What the fuck were you doing?”

“I had to go. I had to  _ go _ . I need a fix. I need to get out of here.”

“You were going to do drugs?”

“No. Yes... I don’t know.” He shook his head, glancing back as Robson came up behind them looking pissed. “Your sister is right, I can’t do this when I’m with you.”

“You can’t do this on your own Beecher, she doesn’t understand everything about what you went through. You are getting better with me. And you can’t leave like this Beecher, this isn’t helping anyone.” He pulled him closer, “She is wrong about that. You’d be alone out there. Understand?”

“Can I say something?”

“No.” Vern and Toby answered in unison, and then looked back to each other while Robson put his hands up and took a step back, kicking at the ground.

“Come back home and we’ll get ready for work...” Vern trailed off and tried to meet Beecher’s eyes, “Or we can call in if you aren’t up to it. Fuck if you want to leave you can, but let me help you find somewhere.”

“Vern...”

“I don’t give a shit if it sets you back, I’m not letting you take off to do drugs in some back alley Beecher, not even if it means I have to drag you back to the apartment and handcuff you to the table.”

Toby waited for the panic at that, or for it to calm him, any kind of emotional reaction but he was coming up blank. He licked his lips and glanced back at Robson and put his hand against Vern’s chest to keep them apart. Vern opened his mouth to keep talking but Beecher shook his head, “Just give me a second.”

“This is fucking ridiculous.”

“You can go back to the apartment Robson, no one is making you stay here.”

“You were making me help look for the fucker. And I can’t go back, I don’t know where the fuck we are!”

Schillinger let go of Beecher to stomp to Robson, grabbing him by the shirt even as he cringed back and got right in his face. “You got a fucking problem Robson?”

“Vern, hey, ease off.” It kicked Beecher into action and he moved next to them, reaching out to push Vern back, forcing his way in between them his back to Robson and using both hands to push Vern back a step. 

The man backed off but he grabbed Beecher to pull him forward with him, away from Robson, and since Beecher was okay with that he didn’t complain. He looked up to him, “Ease off on him, he’s trying. He’s scared.”

“You’re defending him?”

Beecher winced and shook his head. “No.” He turned his head to Robson, “I’m not. You’re an ass, but I understand.” He looked back to Vern, “I’ll come back home. I won’t try to run off.”

“And you’ll stay as long as I think you should, right?”

He hesitated at that, not sure he wanted to agree to that. But still he shrugged, “Yes. Let’s get ready for work. We can talk more later.” He gave a pointed look towards James, “When he isn’t here.”

“Yea, sure, of course. Like I give a fuck if you go do drugs or not Beecher.”

Vern seemed reluctant to let go of him, and finally his hand slid down until he held Beecher’s wrist, tight enough that there would be bruises but Beecher only sidled up next to him as they walked back towards the apartment. Robson hung back a bit, giving them space, and Beecher didn’t know if it was because he didn’t want to get in between them or if Vern had told him to, but he did lean towards Vern and spoke low.

“You need me to stay, don’t you?”

“What?”

A furtive glance at Robson to make sure he wasn’t any closer and he twisted his wrist, tugging on the hold before he settled back into it. “You don’t want me to leave Vern, and not just for my own good. I think it helps you having me here.”

The fingers tightened hard enough that Beecher was going to really struggle to pull away but eased when Vern leaned down to him. “Maybe.” It was just one word but even that admission from Vern was astounding and Beecher nodded to himself. It made him feel better, and finally there was a surge of emotion. Vern needed him, he wasn’t the only one damaged here, and it made him feel less alone. 

Speaking of which he glanced back at Robson, falling even further behind them, hands shoved in his pockets and his head down. He got that Vern wouldn’t treat him like he did Toby, they didn’t have that kind of relationship in Oz and he wasn’t going to start now and maybe it was for the best. Robson had been in prison a long time before he was a prag, and he wasn’t one for very long, maybe treating him like normal would be the best way to knock him out of it. 

The building rose in front of him and Beecher was a little disgruntled to realize he hadn’t made it very far. Like a little kid running away down the block. “Home, sweet home. Huh?”


	21. Chapter 21

The truck ride to work was in silence, Robson had begged to come with them but Vern had put his foot down, and he appreciated it. He would have begged Vern to not let him come, he cringed just thinking about Robson out there, but as it turned out he hadn’t needed to. Score one for him.

He didn’t know how he felt about work. It still did his head in that he had the opportunity to stop going and he still was, and he moved over to the middle of the truck to lean his head on to Vern’s shoulder. He thought for a moment and spoke up, “I was thinking I should get some floor time, I make better tips.”

“No.”

His mouth quirked because he had expected that answer. “No?”

“Don’t fuck with me Beecher.”

“I’m not.”

Vern’s body shook and it took Beecher a second to realize that he was laughing. “Fine, take floor time. All the floor time. Do you want to wear cuffs too?” They arrived at a traffic light and Vern looked down at him and he expected more teasing, more fight but that wasn’t what he got. “I hate to think about you on the floor, with you touching any of those men. I can’t keep an eye on you all the time. I don’t like it. Happy?”

“Kind of.” It had been what he was going for. He stayed pressed against Vern the rest of the trip. Weirdly content. 

At the door they split off in different directions but not until Vern grabbed him by both wrists, pulling him close, eyes meeting for long seconds before Vern let him go. Nothing as straightforward as a kiss, but possessive enough that everyone got the idea. Vern was staking a claim on him and it made him grin as he moved towards the locker room.

Taylor was there by his locker, grinning at Toby when he saw him, and he put his hand up before the man could say anything. “Yes, okay. Just yes, now leave it Taylor.” 

The night went normal, and Beecher was starting to forget what that was like. He danced, and he shook in the right ways, and collected his tips and before he knew it the night was over. The job wasn’t so bad, somehow having the choice to leave made it more tolerable, and at least he was still making good money.

Vern still had an hour to work when Beecher finished up, and he got changed, and headed out to the main floor. Usually he would leave right away or stay in the back, mostly because it was difficult for customers to understand that when he wasn’t working he wasn’t there to be felt up, but he wanted to be close to Vern. 

The man was leaning against the back wall, looking bored, though he smiled when he saw Beecher. Toby sidestepped a few drunk customers, making sure to still smile and be friendly and apologize for being off work. He stopped by the bar long enough to get a drink and then headed towards Vern. 

Leaning against the wall next to him he sipped his drink, glancing around the room. After a moment he snorted, “This job doesn’t seem so hard.”

Vern glanced at him and then down at the drink in his hand with a frown before he looked back up at him. “If it isn’t so hard then why did I have to be the one to drag a customer off of you, why didn’t you just do it?”

It shut him up and he took another sip of his drink, hissing at how strong it was. He looked up and met Katie’s eyes behind the bar and gave her a little wave when she winked at him. Vern was watching the interaction carefully and the frown deepened. “You shouldn’t be drinking.”

“Why?”

“You’re an alcoholic?”

Beecher nodded as he drank more, “I do a lot of things I shouldn’t be doing.”

Vern’s gaze turned to him again and he pointed at a table, “Go sit down, I’m working, you’re distracting me.”

He nodded at that and headed towards the bar instead of the table and made it almost halfway there before Vern grabbed him by the back of his shirt and dragged him to the table, pushing him down in it. “Stay.”

“Yes, sir.” He gave him a mock salute but didn’t try to get back up or complain, just nursed his drink while he watched Vern. It had been an emotional night and he was looking forward to going home and sleeping. Though home meant Robson and he could do without that. Why had he agreed to him staying? There must be something wrong in his head, but it wasn’t like he didn’t already know that.

He was so intent on watching Vern he startled when someone pulled out the chair across from him and sat down. It was a woman, which surprised him, and he found himself staring at her, no idea why she was sitting there. She raised an eyebrow at him and he glanced at Vern before he looked back at her and finally got his wits about him. “Hello?” 

“Hi.” She settled in her chair and smiled at him and Beecher just found his eyes going back to Vern. The man was watching them pretty intently now and he shrugged at him before turning back to the girl.

“Can I uh... help you with something?”

“I see your drink is almost gone, could I buy you another one?”

He looked down at his drink which was only half gone and back up at her. “No thank you.”

The smile wilted a little but it came back quickly. “Maybe you could buy me one then?”

Beecher was shaking his head, and he was supposed to be getting hit on here, he was sure of it, but he didn’t want that. Wasn’t interested. He started to push from his seat, “I think you have the wrong idea, have a good night-”

The smile slid completely off her face and she leaned over the table, “Mr. Beecher, if you would please take your seat, I have a few questions for you.”

The change in tone, in body language made Beecher freeze as he slid back into the chair, sending a wild look at Vern. “Who the fuck are you?”

She tilted her head and also glanced at Vern who hadn’t started towards them yet but was keeping an eye on them. “I was hoping we could talk somewhere without the ... security here listening. Would you care to join me for a cup of coffee?”

He leaned forward, grinding the words out, “Who the fuck are you and what the fuck do you want?”

She sighed, and all pretenses of being sweet or gentle fell away. “I’m a private investigator Mr. Beecher, I was hired by your brother to find you.”

Every panic response he had triggered and he stumbled to his feet and now Vern was moving towards him. “Stay the fuck away from me.” He spun around and nearly slammed into Vern, grabbing on to him. He pointed at the woman, his voice shaky, “She needs to leave.”

“Toby, what is going on?”

“She needs to leave!” His voice got high pitched, panicked and Schillinger held his arms so he could see his face and finally nodded, pushing Beecher behind him. “Ma’am, you seem to be upsetting the dancers. I’m asking you to please exit the establishment.”

She pushed to her feet and didn’t look too put out. She looked like she wanted to talk to Toby but he stayed behind Vern and with a tight smile she grabbed her stuff and headed towards the door. Not until she was gone did Vern turn to Beecher, “What was that about?”

“She’s a PI. My brother hired her.” There was a sinking feeling in his stomach and he whimpered out, “How did she find me? They are going to know I’m alive now.”

“It will be okay.” Vern didn’t say that maybe it was a good thing, but he did think it and he coaxed Beecher to sit at the table, pushing the drink towards him. “I got 15 more minutes, finish your drink, and then we will talk about this.”

“Vern-”

“Sit down.” Beecher’s mouth opened again but Vern grabbed his shoulder and pushed him down, giving him a stern look. “Sit. 15 minutes. Don’t move.”

He relented and sunk into the seat, holding on to his drink as he stared at Vern, watching him walk away like it was his only friend in the world. Like he hated to be away from the man and Vern couldn’t help a thrill at that. It felt good to be needed.

Beecher’s heart was racing and he chugged the rest of his drink, eyes darting around like there might be someone else looking for him. He wanted to go home, he didn’t even care that Robson was there anymore, he just wanted somewhere safe. He wanted to go back to the apartment and hide there, maybe forever. Maybe he’d stop working, and stop going anywhere. He could just clean the apartment and fuck Vern. Oz was looking better and better. 

He never took his eyes off Vern, and was aware that the man was keeping an eye on him too. Finally Vern was done and came to the table to get him, wrapping a hand around his wrist tight and pulling him towards the exit. Beecher didn’t try to pull away and Vern nodded at the bouncer at the door as they passed. He leaned into Toby, “I got your tips.”

Honestly he didn’t care at all about the money, but he nodded anyway. The hold didn’t loosen when they reached the truck, Vern pulling open the door and lifting him up, watching him crawl across the seat. As soon as Vern was in Beecher curled up against him, pressing his face into his shoulder, trying desperately to do anything but think about that his family would know he was alive. He let out a small sound, barely a moan and Schillinger’s arm came around his shoulders. “It really isn’t that bad Toby.” 

“Fuck you.” It slipped out before he meant to but Vern just tightened his grip, rubbing his arm. 

“Don’t get mad at me, I’m just about the only one on your side anymore Sweet Pea.” It was sad but it was true and Beecher sniffled a few more times before turning more into Vern. 

“Please don’t let them take me.” He looked down at his hands in his lap, “I’ll do anything, please.”

“You’re an adult Beecher, you don’t need to go with anyone if you don’t want to.” The ‘except me’ settled between them but he didn’t mention it. “Your family obviously cares though if they are looking for you, right?”

He wasn’t so sure about that, it wasn’t like they had left on good terms. He hadn’t asked anything of them though, hadn’t wanted his money, why couldn’t they just leave him alone. “How did they even find me?”

They were nearly home and Schillinger had no answer for him, not that he had expected him to. The truck pulled into a parking spot and Vern turned it off, but didn’t move. 

“Toby, you okay?”

He nodded his head but made no attempt to move, his eyes glancing at the apartment building. “Can I stay with you?”

“You are already staying with me.”

“Forever.”

“Alright, come on, time to go.” He opened the door and scooted out, pulling Beecher with him. “Come on, quiet when we go in, Robson is probably sleeping.”

That brought him out of it as he snorted, because waking up Robson was the least of his worries. It actually made him want to be louder but that thought was dissuaded when Vern gripped his wrist again, fingers tight around it like he wanted to keep him just as close as Beecher wanted to be. They were quite the pair.


	22. Chapter 22

When they reached the apartment Schillinger dropped his wrist to get the keys he felt it like a real loss, making up for it by sidling closer to him. The door swung open and there was Robson, curled up on the couch watching tv, his attention jumping immediately to them at the door and he looked happy to see them. Well, if Beecher was honest he knew that the man was happy to see Vern.

“What the fuck are you even doing up?”

Beecher would bet that he didn’t feel safe sleeping without Vern there but let the other man deal with that. He kicked off his boots, flipped off Robson and headed towards the bathroom to jump in the shower. Dancing made him sweaty and he felt gross and then he wanted to sleep. 

He kept the shower quick, getting out and drying off, dashing from the bathroom to the bedroom in just a towel, ignoring that Vern seemed to be having a beer with Robson. Once he was in the bedroom he debated if he wanted to lay down or get dressed and go out there, and finally with a sigh he pulled on his clothes and slunk out into the living room. 

“Vern.” He wanted to talk about the PI, about his family finding out he was alive, he wanted Schillinger’s attention all to himself but the man just raised an eyebrow at him. “We have to talk...”

Robson laughed, leaning back in his chair with a beer in his hand, and Vern shook his head. “Come on Beech, sit down and have a beer. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

His lip curled but he moved to the fridge to grab a beer and came back, sitting across from Robson, making a point of kicking out his feet and slamming them into the other man’s shins as he sat down. It only made Robson give him a dirty look and he noticed for the first time that the man had a black eye, it must have been when he hit him and he couldn’t help but smirk. It barely had time to manifest when Vern knocked him upside the head, not hard, but enough to make his point and Beecher ducked his eyes to the table.

There was comfort in it though, having rules to follow and he touched the top of the beer bottle for a moment before Vern grabbed it and twisted the top off, setting it back in front of him. He muttered a thank you and grabbed the bottle, taking a long sip before he leaned back in the chair, trying to relax.

Neither him nor Robson could relax completely, glaring at each other over the table until Vern sighed. “Come on guys, just give it a rest. Just for a fucking night, act like you aren’t both fucked up.”

That stung and Beecher swallowed down his retort, lifting the beer to chug half of it instead. If he had to do this he could use a buzz. Vern eyed that but seemed to approve, or at least didn’t have a problem with it and the conversation slowly picked back up.

Robson was telling Vern news from Oz, updates about the people they knew, and there couldn’t be a topic that Beecher was any less interested in. Finally they moved on to talking about sports and though he wasn’t interested in it, it was at least a safer topic. 

“You have a team Beecher?”

He had his head tilted back looking at the ceiling but he slowly lowered his head to look at Robson, and raised an eyebrow. “Not really.”

Robson nodded at that, looking back to Vern, clearly for some kind of praise and Beecher shook his head as he chugged the rest of his beer and then shoved away from the table to get another one. Without being asked he grabbed another one for Vern and Robson, see, he didn’t always have to be a spiteful bitch, and sat back at the table pushing them over.

Around the third or fourth beer the tension finally eased away and it was almost like before he had gone to prison, having a couple drinks with friends. He didn’t really join in the conversation but he listened and had some input here and there, a few laughs, and it wasn’t terrible. 

He tried to hide it as he yawned but knew that Vern had noticed, and when he yawned a second time Vern turned towards him and tilted his head towards the bedroom. “You can go to sleep you know.”

Nodding he glanced between Vern and Robson, and took another sip of his beer. It wasn’t even a jealousy thing, or at least not entirely, but it was kind of nice to act like a real person again and he didn’t want to give it up.

When he tried to hide another yawn Vern finally laughed as he set down his beer. “Alright, time to get some sleep. You too Robson.” Vern hesitated, like he should be saying there that they would have a long day but really they had nothing to do. 

Still Beecher didn’t get to his feet until Vern stood up, like he thought it might be a trick. When he still hesitated Vern grabbed his wrist again and gave him a tug towards the bedroom, letting him go when Toby moved that way. He stopped to talk to Robson, voice low, but Beecher kept the direction he was going, feeling a little tipsy.

In the bedroom he barely had his shirt off when suddenly Vern was behind him, hands resting on his hips for a moment before he was shoved onto the bed, leaving him to sprawl on it ungracefully. Beecher struggled to turn over on to his back so he could glare at Vern and noticed the bedroom door was still open, and that Vern was a little drunk himself. It made him uneasy and he scooted back until he reached the headboard. “Vern?”

The man made a sound that acknowledged him as he pulled off his own shirt and Beecher’s eyes darted towards the bedroom door again. “The door is open.”

“So?”

From where he sat Beecher could see the couch but he couldn’t see Robson and he slowly slid off the other side of the bed with the intent of going to shut the door. He didn’t make it that far as Vern moved faster than he remembered and caught his arm, slamming him up against the door frame instead, moving his body in to pin him there. 

This close Beecher could smell the alcohol and he realized that while he had been drinking and daydreaming that Vern had more than he thought he had, and he shifted his weight, trying to keep his voice low. “You’re drunk, back up please.”

Instead of backing up a thigh pressed between Beecher’s, forcing his legs apart. “Shhh.” Vern leaned down to kiss him but Beecher turned his head away, cringing when Schillinger made an annoyed sound. “What the fuck Beecher?”

“I’m tired Vern, please.” The grip on him got tighter, fingers digging into his hips and his eyes darted out of the room before he looked up at Vern, “Sir, please.” Schillinger’s mouth was on his neck, biting down hard and he couldn’t stop the whimper that made it out.

One hand slid around to his ass and he resigned himself to this happening, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Robson on his feet heading towards them and his adrenalin spiked, struggling to get away from Vern. It only made him hold on tighter, voice a growl, “Hold the fuck still, Sweet Pea.”

He wouldn’t let Robson touch him, that wasn’t going to happen. Vern was one thing but letting someone else fuck him? Touch him? That wasn’t who he was anymore and he wouldn’t take it, though Vern was big, was too strong to pull away from, and fear cleared any lingering buzz he had from the alcohol.

“Hey, Vern.” Robson reached out but he didn’t touch Beecher, instead he grabbed Vern’s arm, giving it a tug. “I think you’re hurting him. Why don’t you let him get some sleep, we’ll talk more about the guys at Oz. I know you want to know more about how everyone is doing.”

Beecher looked at Robson, surprise making it hard for him to respond, because it sure as hell seemed like Robson was trying to help him. Vern wasn’t that easily swayed though, shaking Robson’s hand off his arm. “I’m busy.”  
“Yea, I know.” Robson reached out to give Vern a little shove back and it was enough to get him to loosen his grip and Beecher pulled away immediately, darting back into the bedroom, nowhere for him to really go. Vern turned to follow him, but he wasn’t so drunk that he didn’t realize that Beecher was trying to get away.

“Toby?”

He didn’t sound mad, just confused, and Robson tried again. “I think he said no, man. Why don’t you come out and have another drink with me and-”

Vern abruptly turned his attention to Robson and gave him a shove back into the living room, slamming the door shut in his face, so it was just the two of them and he watched Beecher back up to the wall. “I wouldn’t hurt you Toby.”

“I asked you to stop.” Vern put his hand out like he wanted Beecher to come to him and despite that he had just worked to get away he moved forward and let Vern pull him to him. “I don’t want...” 

He couldn’t say the words, he just knew that he didn’t want to. Not when Vern was drunk, not when Vern had just scared him and the bigger man looked over his face for a moment before he nodded, “That’s fine.”

“Beecher?” Robson’s voice from the other side of the door, either annoyed or concerned, or some fucked up mixture of the two. 

“It’s okay.” He looked at the door and the words were bitter on his tongue. “Thank you.”

There was no answer, just footsteps moving away and Beecher refused to be grateful even though he was certain that without the intervention Vern would have fucked him against the door frame. Speaking of which the other man had already stripped to his boxers and slid into bed, rolling on to his side.

Beecher didn’t think it was normal for him to crawl into the bed with the man after what just happened but he followed suit, stripping down and climbing into bed. He turned away from Vern and after a few moments the man’s weight settled behind him, arm curling around his waist. 

Sleep didn’t come easy despite that he was tired and he reached up to touch Vern’s arm, startling when the man spoke behind him. “I’m sorry Tobe, I got a little carried away.”

Like he had in the truck when Vern had held him down he shrugged his shoulders, “It’s okay.” 

The silence stretched on and Beecher thought that Vern must have fallen asleep but he spoke again, quieter. “I think my sister might be right Toby.”

He had no answer for that because he was starting to think that too. That as long as he was staying with Vern neither of them would make any progress. They were just hiding, playing like they were still in Oz or some bastardized version of it, but the thought of leaving was too much to think about. Too frightening. So he didn’t say anything and Vern didn’t say anything and eventually they both fell into a fitful sleep.


	23. Chapter 23

Beecher woke up slowly, head pounding and cold as he realized he was alone in the bed. He opened his eyes and looked around, confirming that Vern wasn’t there, and pulled the blanket up around his shoulders, rolling over and closing his eyes. He would love to go back to sleep but he could hear the voices in the next room, laughing, and that forced him to sit up and rub his eyes. Vern had been more drunk than him, he should be in bed with a hangover too, not laughing. Grumbling he pushed his way out of bed, pulling on his clothes, mood only lifting when he smelled the coffee. 

As he pulled on his shirt he noticed the bruises on his arms from where Vern had held him last night, and the sharp pain in his shoulder told him that the bite he had felt had probably left a good size bruise. It made him hesitate, but only for a moment before he pulled open the bedroom door, eyeing the men sitting at the table.

They didn’t pay him much mind and Beecher slunk into the kitchen, getting a cup of coffee and then poking around in the cupboard, looking for some kind of aspirin. He was still looking when something bounced off his back and hit the floor. He whirled around, glaring, but the bottle of aspirin caught his eye and he gave them one more dirty look before he reached down to grab it.

Finally he settled at the table, hands wrapped around his coffee cup, ignoring the mocking look from Vern, and tried to figure out how to say what he had thought about the night before. Wondered how Vern would react to it. He waited for a lull in the conversation and then said the words before he could chicken out. “I want to go to Oz to visit Ryan.”

You could have heard a pin drop in the room as Vern slowly turned to face him and even Robson looked interested. “What?”

He looked down at the table and the words came out less confident this time, “I... sir... please. I’d like to... I think that I need to ask him some things.”

Robson spoke up, voice a sneer, and it was actually comforting to have him act that way. The knight in shining armor routine from the night before hadn’t settled right with Beecher. “He misses his boyfriend.”

“Beecher, look at me.”

Looking up was difficult but he finally did and was surprised to see hurt on Vern’s face and he found himself scrambling to explain. “I need to hear it from him. What... that he wanted Colin to get rid of me. I can’t let it go and I need to be able to.” He didn’t mention that he wasn’t even sure if Ryan would agree to see him, or that the thought of that still hurt. He hadn’t loved Ryan, but he had been close with him, they were friends and the thought that he was just another one of Ryan’s plots was unpleasant.

Vern watched his face for a moment before he spoke, “You can do whatever you want Beecher, you’re an adult.”

Beecher wasn’t sure if Vern was aiming for a certain answer, or what that was supposed to mean but he answered him, voice barely a whisper, “I’m asking for your permission to go.” Robson laughed at that but Beecher didn’t care, it wasn’t about him.

“You don’t have to ask my permission Beecher, I just told you that.”

He frowned because the fact that he was calling him Beecher said a lot and he shifted his weight, uncomfortable. “I just... Sir...” He tapped his fingers against the table and lowered his eyes, “Is this because I said no last night?”

Vern slammed his coffee mug down on the table, coffee sloshing over the side and Beecher didn’t wait for him to say anything as he scrambled to his feet, reaching for the kitchen towel to wipe it up, muttering apologies. Vern reached for his arm and even though he flinched he didn’t pull away, and another hand came up to touch his chin tilting his head up. Vern looked worried and without looking away Vern tipped his head at Robson. “Take a walk around the block, okay?”

“Vern-”

“Now.” They didn’t speak as the man stomped around the room, finally heading out the door and slamming it behind him.

Vern glanced at the door before he looked back to Beecher, “You can always say no Beecher, last night... that was on me. You didn’t do anything wrong and I’m not punishing you for saying no.”

“Why... why are you saying I can do what I want? You know that isn’t...”

Vern let go of him and rubbed a hand over his face, “It pisses me off that you want to go see that fucking Mick. What the fuck could you need from him?”

It was hard to explain, it wasn’t because he missed him, he just needed to ask some questions. He needed to understand a few things. If he had been a pawn this whole time he needed to know that too. He moved into Vern’s space, tentatively reaching up to touch his chest. “I just want to find out where I stand Vern. Please... if you don’t want me to go, I won’t.” He licked his lips and the words felt odd coming out, “I will do whatever you want Vern, you know that.”

“I’ll go with you.”

Oh Beecher could just imagine how well that would go over with Ryan but given the response the man had he wasn’t willing to say that. His eyes skittered away though as he nodded and Vern rolled his eyes. “I’ll drive you, not go in. I don’t want to see that fuck.”

“Okay.” He realized what he had just said and looked up, “I can go see him?”

“Sure. If you think it will help you Toby.” He leaned back against the table, “I don’t think seeing that fuck will do you any good, but if you want to.” He glanced towards the door, “You want to talk about this PI?”

He didn’t actually, it had mostly slipped his mind but the dread slid over him again and he pulled away from Vern to sit at the table. “What am I supposed to do?”

Vern didn’t sit, instead he leaned his arm on the table and it put him over Beecher, and he thought it might be intentional. “I think that you should call your family and let them hear it from you.” His hand shot out to Beecher’s shoulder, holding him in to the seat, the movement so fast he had barely even realized he was starting to stand up.

“I don’t-”

“I think you should call them. I think your family could help you, Toby.”

He grit his teeth and looked up at Vern, “They won’t. They can’t.” He gave him as serious a look as he could, “I will not call them Vern. I will not see them. As far as I’m concerned they don’t exist.”

They stared at each other for a long time, and Vern didn’t look angry instead he looked baffled as he let his hand drop away. “Okay, I get it.” He rubbed his hand over his face and sighed, “When do you want to go to Oz?”


	24. Chapter 24

It took some doing but finally he got Ryan to agree to a visit, it hadn’t been as difficult as he thought it was going to be. Ryan hated not understanding something, not knowing what was going on and he had to be dying to know what Beecher was doing. Whether he cared or not, O’Reily did not like loose ends. 

The night before they were supposed to go he laid in bed next to Vern, the man already asleep, and thought about waking him up to fool around. Or maybe in the morning. Something in him needed it before he went to see Ryan, needed reassurance of who he belonged to now.

With a sigh he rolled on to his side and poked Vern in the arm. “Hey.” He didn’t budge and Beecher pushed harder, “Hey!”

The man mumbled something and rolled away from him, and when Beecher tried to cuddle up to him he was shoved back. He flopped onto his back with a sigh and glanced at the bedroom door. The thought of seeing Ryan again was making his stomach hurt, it was confusing him, and he finally got out of bed, pulling on a pair of pants and figured he would get a beer. Something to settle his nerves.

Robson was up, because of course he was, and Beecher rolled his eyes as he moved past the couch and headed towards the fridge. Once the door was between them, giving him more confidence, he snapped out, “Don’t you ever sleep?” 

“Not really.” 

Beecher peeked around the corner of the fridge door, but Robson was still sitting there and he sighed. “Do you want a beer?”

“Sure.” 

He grabbed two beers and kept an eye on Robson as he moved into the living room, setting them down on the coffee table, chewing on his lip before he sat next to him on the couch. Now that the man had settled down, now that he knew Beecher’s place, there was some kind of comfort in having one of Vern’s men near him, especially when Vern wouldn’t pay attention to him.

“Why would you go back to Oz for anything?” Robson rubbed his hand over his face as he leaned back against the couch, downing half the beer in one go. “There is nothing that would get me voluntarily back there.”

Beecher sighed and sipped his beer, not looking at him. “I kind of like being back there. Everything made more sense.”

“You are fucked up, aren’t you?” He looked at him and Robson added, “It was bad for you in prison.”

His mouth twisted and he couldn’t help feeling defensive, “It is bad for everyone in prison.”

Robson finished his beer and pushed to his feet, apparently to get another one. “Not like it was for you Beecher. Not... ya know.”

Beecher licked his lips, “You ended up a prag too.”

Robson paused behind the refrigerator door and finally shut it, standing there with a beer in his hand and a raised eyebrow. “You think that was the same thing as what happened to you?”

His first instinct was to start a fight, to mock him, but this close to going back to Oz and it was a different mindset so he just looked down at his beer, “No, I don’t.”

When Robson sat back next to him he startled a little, curling into himself, watching as Robson set another beer down in front of him. “What are you even doing out here Beecher?”

“Vern is sleeping.” He licked his lips, “I get nervous before I go to Oz, I need to be like... near someone.”

“You have got to be shitting me.” Robson set the beer down and chuckled, “Being near me makes you less nervous? You’re fucking with me, right?” 

Beecher tilted the beer back and forth before he lifted it up to down it and reached for the second one. He shook his head, “You’re one of his men. I just...”

Robson drank his beer for a bit before he answered, “I thought coming here would help me Beecher, I’m starting to think that might not be true.”

“Why?” Beecher couldn’t help it as he turned towards him, couldn’t stop the real confusion in his voice.

“I’m not getting into this with you Beecher, you’re too fucked up to even understand. You need to be like... in one of those mental hospitals. Or rehab. Something other than this.”

Well, that might be true. He glanced towards the bedroom, feeling like he was betraying Vern somehow. “Vern knows what he is doing. He’s helping me, Robson, you want him to help you too.”

“He’s doing something.” Out of the corner of his eye Beecher could see him rub the back of his head, “He might be able to help me Beech, you need something different though.”

It was the longest conversation he had ever had with any of the Aryans besides Vern and it unsettled him, he shifted towards him though, glancing up at him. He traced his thumb around the top of the beer, not sure what he was doing. But angry that Vern wouldn’t make him feel safe, wouldn’t claim him.

Robson glanced his direction and met his eyes and they held for a moment before he snorted and waved his hand, “You can save that too, believe me Beecher, I have no desire to fuck you. In prison is one thing, but, I’m not gay. I can go get pussy.”

“I wasn’t trying to... I wasn’t offering...” Beecher was flustered because he didn’t know what to say to that, and he really hadn’t been trying to have sex with him, he just didn’t know how to interact with someone in any other way. He licked his lips and eased away, “I’m going to go... back to the bedroom. I shouldn’t have come out here.”

He pushed to his feet and Robson’s hand snapped out lightning quick, grabbing his wrist and he couldn’t help the flinch, a squeak from escaping.

“Let me go.”

Ignoring that Robson pulled him back to the couch, “You don’t have to go. Stay. We can talk about... whatever.”

Beecher gave in and sat back on the couch, though he didn’t know what they could possibly have to talk about. It was clear that Robson was lonely though, he must be if he was looking to Beecher for some kind of companionship.

“You know, you aren’t in prison anymore Beecher. You don’t have to do what he says all the time.” He seemed to struggle with the words but finished, “It can’t be right, ya know? Can’t be helping you.”

Beecher scoffed a little at that, because it wasn’t like Robson was standing up to him either but he nodded, “Yea, I think I know that.” It wasn’t exactly how he had planned on answering and the way it was worded made him uncomfortable. 

It seemed to make Robson uncomfortable as well and he motioned at the television, “Want to watch some tv?”

He nodded because at least that would give them something to do. Robson flipped it on and they settled on the couch in silence, drinking their beers. 

Eventually Beecher pushed to his feet, muttering apologies to Robson and headed back into the bedroom. He had reached his tolerance, sitting there doing nothing gave him time to think about what the man said. And he didn’t like the conclusions he was coming too. Where it left him if even James Robson could see that it was wrong.

Inside the room Vern was still sound asleep and Beecher sighed, stripping down to his underwear and climbing in the bed. He pressed against the man and was rewarded with him shifting his weight, wrapping an arm around Beecher’s middle and pulling him close. He nuzzled against his neck and there was a sleepy, “Where’d ya go...”

He pressed back against him and didn’t answer, just huddled in the warmth and closed his eyes, praying that sleep would come.

Beecher was sure that Vern hadn’t even realized he’d left the bedroom the night before, he didn’t mention anything about it and he got ready on autopilot. Taking a quick shower and then heading in the bedroom to get changed. He grabbed his normal clothes and for a moment he really thought he was going to be able to do it. Vern’s voice from the other room made his shoulders hunch though, being around the man so close to going to Oz was making him antsy. Making his stomach clench and if it had been impossible before to dress normal, it wasn’t getting any better.

With a sigh he dropped the clothes on to the dresser and comforted himself with the fact that at least he didn’t think Vern would notice. It was clothes he hadn’t worn before, not since he’d been with Vern, adn since he really did have a limited amount of stuff it might not stick out. His thoughts were racing as he pulled on the pants and shirt, as he zipped up his hoodie. His fingers traced it, thinking of Ryan, and he forcefully pushed that aside. He would have real answers soon, from the man himself, he didn’t need to dwell on it. 

Looking in the mirror he couldn’t help the frown, seeing himself like this... it never failed to bring back memories. Ones that he didn’t need. To stop them he headed out for the living room, hoping they would get going soon. He couldn’t imagine if they were late and missed visiting hours after all the buildup.

He was wrong, of course, it felt like he always was now. Vern’s eyes snapped to him as soon as he walked through the door, mouth twisting. “What are you wearing Beecher?”

Beecher flinched as he looked down, tugging at his shirt and while he was trying to figure out how to answer that in a way that wouldn’t upset him Robson answered for him. “It’s what he wore inside. O'Reilly gave him the hoodie.”

“Toby?” Vern sounded annoyed and Beecher lowered his eyes. 

“I just... I feel better in this.”

“Go change.”

He stared at Vern and chewed on his lip, and he had to wonder at how obvious it was that it was fucked up that he needed to wear the same clothes that every ex criminal, every fuck up that he fell in to it with thought the same thing. “I don’t want to.”

“Go change, now.”

Beecher could already feel the anxiety starting and turned his glance to Robson who leaned away like he wanted nothing to do with it. So much for prag solidarity.

Vern caught it though and moved forward in between them. “What was that?”

They both said nothing at the same time and that was enough to make Vern suspicious. Vern’s voice dropped threateningly, “What the fuck is going on?” He pinned Beecher with a stare, “Is that where you went last night? Out here with him?”

Robson shoved to his feet and headed into the kitchen, and muttered out, “Holy fuck, relax.”

Vern moved quick and caught his arm, spinning him around to face him, “Did you fuck him?”

Robson laughed and shoved off his hand. “Are you even listening to yourself? Jesus fuck.” He glanced at Beecher who was frozen and then back to Vern, snarling out, “No worries Schillinger, I remember the rules. I didn’t touch your prag.”

“Guys-” Beecher tried to move between them but two angry glares had him backing up, worrying at his lip with his teeth as he watched them standoff with each other.

“Get the fuck out of my apartment.”

“I thought maybe you were just... you know. That you liked dick now. But that isn’t it, it’s just like Oz here Vern, congrats. Our very own hell away from hell.”

Vern’s face was red and he jammed a finger into Robson’s chest, “You better be gone by the time we get back.”

Robson looked past him to Toby and they held the gaze for a long time and Toby got the message. “Sir, can we go. Give everyone some time to calm down. Please?”

“By the time we get back Robson, I’m not fucking around.” Vern stomped towards the door, leaving the two of them standing there.

Robson met his eyes, “I’m leaving Beecher, this was a bad idea. You should leave too.”

“Don’t... don’t do anything drastic. I’ll talk to him. It’s fine.” Beecher wasn’t sure about that but he followed Vern out and hey, at least he didn’t have to change.

Vern had already made it down the stairs to the parking lot and even from as far away as Beecher was he could tell how angry the man was. Beecher’s steps slowed, dread making his stomach twist and his feet feel heavy. Vern’s face, angry and violent, combined with going back to Oz and he felt like he did those first few weeks he was in. He curled his shoulders in and ducked his head and tried not to piss himself.

He was having trouble moving forward, too scared to pick up his feet and finally whimpered out, “Sir?”  
“Don’t fucking call me that Beecher, I know we have been the fuck over this.”

The last Beecher remembered was that the man had said it was okay for him to call him it if it made him feel better but when he was this angry he wasn’t going to argue with him. Vern opened the driver’s side door and waited but Beecher only stared at him, too scared to get his feet to move. Not willing to go closer when the man looked like he was just waiting for someone to take out all that indignant Aryan rage on. 

Vern growled and stalked towards him and even though he cringed he didn’t pull away. The grip on his arm hurt and he didn’t resist when he was dragged to the truck, Vern shoving him hard into the side of it, waiting for him to climb up before knocking him forward to sprawl on the seat.

He didn’t grab at him this time and Beecher meekly climbed to the other side, buckling his belt as Vern followed, slamming the door shut, ramming the key in the ignition so hard Beecher thought it might break.

Unable to help himself he tugged at the bottom of his shirt and whimpered out, “We don’t have to go, I’m sorry.”

“Shut the fuck up Beecher, just... shut the fuck up.”

The truck roared to life and Vern squealed the tires he pulled out so fast. It was a long drive to Oz and there was no way that Vern could stay mad the whole way. Or at least he hoped there was no way. 

He rubbed at his arm where Vern had grabbed him but dropped it when the man glanced at him.

“I didn’t grab you that hard.”

Beecher nodded his agreement, looking away. He’d have to be a moron to argue with him when he was already so angry. “I’m sorry.” 

“What were you doing out there with Robson, Beecher?”

He shifted uncomfortably and looked down at his lap, “I was just talking to him.”

“And you guys didn’t fuck?”

Finally some kind of return anger was starting in Beecher, unusual when he felt like this, but being questioned over and over was stressing him out. He desperately wanted to see Ryan, suddenly excited about the thought that the other man might tell him that Colin was full of shit. That he missed him. It wasn’t that long ago that he had seen him and hugged him and he could really use that friendly touch right about now. 

“No  _ Vern _ , I have no interest in fucking Robson.”

The man shrugged without looking away from the road. “Like that matters, you fuck anything that will fuck you.”

It felt like a physical blow, the words hurt, mostly because they were true. He would have fucked Robson if the man had wanted to, and he didn’t even know why.

“We just talked, Vern.” The man still looked angry so he looked out the window and added, “I was nervous about coming today and you were sleeping. I just... wanted someone to talk to.”

“It was a bad idea to have him stay. I was serious. He is fucking out Beecher, I shouldn’t have let him stay there.”

The words were what he wanted to hear, or they had been, but he was too distracted by the looming idea of Oz to really think. Or they weren’t the words he wanted anymore, he wasn’t sure. He kept thinking about what Robson had said, if it was something that even that moron could see, why couldn’t he? How one dumb ass redneck was getting to him so much he didn’t know. Vern seemed to be waiting for something so he ducked his chin, “Thank you.”

The silence was still tense though and Vern spoke again, quiet. “Is he right Beecher? Are we just ... are we just playing prison? Please don’t tell me that fucking Robson is right.”

“I don’t know.” 

Vern’s hand came out to land on his leg, patting it gently, “Come here.”

He didn’t argue, grateful for any comfort he could get, and he unbuckled his belt and slid across the seat, pressing against Vern’s side. An arm settled around his shoulders and the rest of the trip was in silence.


	25. Chapter 25

Sitting in the parking lot of Oz Beecher could finally see a reaction from Schillinger, and it was almost a relief to see that he wasn’t the only one that it got to. The man was eyeing the building nervously and Beecher wiggled out from under his arm. He felt awkward, and he glanced around the truck, keeping his voice low, “Are you sure that you don’t mind waiting for me?”

Schillinger waved his hand dismissively, eyes still on the building, but seemed to realize that Beecher was waiting for some kind of reaction. He turned his eyes to him and seeing Toby nervous helped settle him. “Hey, it’s okay. Go get your answers Sweet Pea, I’ll be waiting out here for you.”

He nodded and leaned in towards Vern, he wasn’t sure for what, but pulled back quick enough and reached for the door. For some reason he expected Vern to stop him, to do something, but there was nothing and then he was outside of the truck and facing Oz. He had never come by himself and he was suddenly unsure, leaning back against the truck. 

It was tempting to get back in the truck but he finally took a deep breath and pushed away from it, heading towards the entrance though he couldn’t keep his shoulders from hunching. Couldn’t pretend like he wasn’t scared.

The guard greeted him on the inside like he had every time Beecher had come for a visit and he had to remind himself that they had no idea what was going on on the outside, that as far as they knew it was just time for him to visit Ryan. 

He had requested a contact visit out of habit but had expected Ryan to turn that down so he was surprised when he was directed that way. With head down and body curled in submissively he dealt with the guards’ questions, without someone at his side it was more intimidating, and he couldn’t bring himself to even look up from the floor. The urge to see Ryan felt like a physical craving, the same way his body craved heroin. 

In the room he hesitated by the door, eyes scanning until he saw Ryan and he stumbled as he moved towards him, not sure exactly what to do. Ryan’s eyes landed on him and he had no idea what to expect, but it wasn’t that Ryan’s eyes would light up as he pushed to his feet. Beecher was moving towards him and Ryan put his arms out and he practically threw himself into his arms.

Ryan wrapped his arms around him like he always had, pulling him close and Beecher buried his face against his neck, eyes closing. “Ryan...”

The arms stayed around him for longer than usual until a guard yelled at them to break it up, and Ryan finally stepped back, one hand keeping a hold of Beecher’s arm as they settled into chairs. Ryan leaned in close, “Toby, what the fuck is going on?” He glanced at the guards and back, “Colin said that you stabbed him? That you’re staying with Schillinger?”

Beecher barely heard the words, staring at Ryan, and finally managed to get his mouth around the words, “You said to get rid of me. Colin said that you... I was just another pawn?”

Ryan reached out to touch Beecher’s face, thumb tracing over the bruise under his eye, “Did Schillinger do this to you?”  
Beecher didn’t miss that Ryan had avoided answering the question and he shook his head, annoyed that even knowing that he was trying to distract him he still leaned in to the touch. “No, Robson did.”

“Robson...” Ryan sounded confused but then his eyes widened and he leaned forward, “Fucking James Robson? What the fuck is going on out there Tobe?”

It was just too much. He didn’t know how to explain to the man and he whimpered out, “Did you tell Colin to get rid of me?”

Ryan frowned, like he wasn’t sure how to handle that and just over his shoulder the door opened to visiting and whatever the man was going to say, whatever distraction, whatever lie was lost as Beecher’s eyes landed on the man walking in the room. 

His mouth went dry and his heart raced, and he knew he was staring like a moron but seeing Chris Keller, seeing him when he wasn’t prepared, when he shouldn’t even be there he couldn’t help it. Ryan realized he had lost Beecher and his eyes glanced where he was looking and then back to him. He leaned over the table, “Didn’t know that loverboy was off of death row?”

Beecher shoved to his feet, moving in front of Keller, stopping him from reaching whoever he was heading towards. Those eyes landed on him and they both froze. “Chris?”

Keller’s eyes darted past Beecher to O’Reily, and then back. “Toby.” Before they could say anything else a guard was there, pushing them apart.

“Back to your own visits or you can leave.”

Beecher moved at the order instantly, Ryan grabbing his wrist to pull him to a chair, and then grabbing his jaw to turn his head back to him when he still stared at Chris. “How do you not know he was off Death Row Beech? Your dad is the one that did it.”

It was news to him, he had no idea his father had continued to help Keller, and he wanted to turn and look at him again but was aware of Ryan’s grip on his jaw. With some effort he turned his attention to him, “I don’t talk to my family. You know that.” Seeing Chris had confused him and he tried to remember what he was here to ask. “Did you tell Colin to get rid of me?”

Ryan sighed and leaned back, and before he even opened his mouth Beecher had his answer. You didn’t spend that much time with someone, you weren’t that intimate with someone and not learn to read them. Ryan was talking though, and if Beecher hadn’t seen his face he might have believed it. “Of course I didn’t Toby, you know that. Colin was just pissed off. You running off with Schillinger it just... come on Beecher, you gotta know that something isn’t right there. How did that even happen?”

When the man had leaned back he had dropped his hand and Beecher couldn’t stop twisting his head around to look at Keller, the man having a visit with one of his ex-wives, and turned back to Ryan. “I don’t know. It just kind of... happened.”

“Why didn’t you go back to Colin?”

He made a helpless gesture because he wasn’t sure what had happened, still didn’t know, but something must have showed on his face and he had forgotten that Ryan could read him just as easily as he could read him. Ryan’s face closed off and his voice wasn’t nearly quiet enough, “You and Schillinger are fucking?”

It had seemed so clear cut when he got there, why he wanted to see Ryan, what he thought he was going to get out of it but he had lost control of it so quickly. 

“What?”

Keller’s voice cut through the room and Beecher turned in his chair to look at him, and the anger on the man’s face cut straight through him and he found himself babbling out an answer, “Chris, you don’t understand...”

Ryan was watching the interaction, his mouth curled up like he was enjoying the show, but a look from Keller and he grabbed Beecher’s arm to pull him back to the table. “Relax.” He looked over Beecher at Chris and mouthed, ‘relax’ at him too. Keller looked pissed, shoving away from the table with his shoulders tense, stomping out of the room and Beecher scrubbed at his face, his hand coming away wet. 

“Keller and I are working together now Beech, he wasn’t happy to hear that you were with Schillinger. He’s probably really not happy now.”

The last he had known Keller had tried to kill Ryan and he didn’t know what had happened since then. What had changed. Didn’t know how they had managed to be partners and he was sick of the entire thing. Of Oz. Of Ryan. Of scheming and plans and without another word he shoved away from the table, yanking his arm out of Ryan’s grip when he tried to stop him. 

Ryan didn’t try to stop him again and he was through the door, coming up short when Keller was standing on the other side of it, like he had been waiting for him. Keller grabbed his shirt and pulled him in close, one hand wrapping in his hair and then they were kissing. Beecher whimpered into it, pressing in to Chris, and in that moment he understood that Vern was a stand in. That he was finding comfort wherever he could but Chris’ hands, they made him feel safe in a way he never felt elsewhere. 

Even though he was anything but. He knew that. Knew the man holding him was a killer, but what else was new. A hack was going to come across them soon and Chris pulled back, both hands around Beecher’s face, thumb rubbing across his cheek. “You’re fucking Schillinger?” He couldn’t find the words, but before he could talk Keller was responding like he had. “It’s okay Tobe, I know you don’t do alone well. And fuck, that mick wasn’t going to take care of you, not like I would. Not like Schillinger does, right?”

The words didn’t settle him, instead they twisted something and he didn’t know the kind of person he was anymore. Didn’t know who he was. “When did you get off death row?”

“Last week. Week and a half ago.” Ryan had known and hadn’t said anything to him and the pain settled deeper in him. “O’Reily told your dad where you were, he picked the case up again after that.” Ah, for information. His father had used Chris and Ryan to find him and he found himself nodding. A hack came around the corner and Keller moved back. “I’m back in gen pop Beecher. It would be just that easy for you.” Keller’s eyes darted towards the visiting room and he lowered his voice. “If you come back Toby, O’Reily won’t be here. He isn’t your friend baby, you have to know that. He hoped Schillinger would kill you. But I’ll take care of things, I always do.”

There was no more talking as the guard got Keller moving and Beecher was left standing in the hallway, moving towards the exit on shaky legs. The guards checked him but he was on autopilot, stumbling into the parking lot, trying to absorb everything that had happened. He lifted a hand to his lips and he could still feel Keller’s mouth on him, and now that he wasn’t so surprised, wasn’t so panicked, his body responded to having his hands on him. Shifting uncomfortably he made his feet move, looking up to find Schillinger’s truck. 

Shit, he was going to have to tell Schillinger. About Chris. About Ryan. Fuck, he wasn’t even sure what had happened. All he could think was that Ryan had definitely set him up and Chris was back in Gen Pop. If he went back into Oz now he would be with Chris. His cock twitched at that, and he wondered if Chris was really going to kill Ryan, if that was what he meant or if it was part of another plan and it was just all too much. 

“Toby?”

His head snapped up at Vern’s voice and he realized he had just been standing in the middle of the parking lot and like a trained dog he moved forward when he was called. Vern must have seen something on his face because he moved forward looking concerned, grabbing on to Beecher’s arm to pull him towards the truck. 

“You okay?” Numbly he nodded. Coming back was a mistake. “Come on Toby, get in the truck.”

He didn’t offer any resistance as he went and Vern tucked him away in the truck before getting into his own seat and closing the door. He shot Oz another nervous glance and started up the truck. “We’ll talk, I just want to get the fuck out of here.”

Beecher leaned against the door and stared out the window, watching Oz until it faded away in the distance and then looked down at his hands. What the fuck had happened. Eventually they pulled into a parking lot of a diner and sat in the truck as it idled. Beecher had been in a daze, felt like he was under a wave of water but Vern’s voice broke through. “What happened Toby?”

He licked his lips, not even sure where to start. Schillinger reached towards him, to pull him closer he supposed, but he pulled back and Vern didn’t push. “Ryan... what Colin said was true. O’Reily tried to say it wasn’t but...” He glanced up at Vern and he should be saying that he saw Keller, but the words wouldn’t come. “He tried to...”

Vern snorted, “Is that what all this is about? You’re upset because O’Reily doesn’t want to be your butt buddy anymore?”

“It’s not...” He floundered because he needed to explain why he was so upset and he managed to mutter out, “O’Reily told my father where I was.” Vern was still looking and he wanted it to be a secret, wanted to keep it quiet but with Schillinger staring at him like he was doing something wrong he finally sniveled out, “Keller is back in gen pop. I saw him.”

He couldn’t stop his hand going to his lips and it should have been an innocent movement, shouldn’t have meant anything but he watched Vern’s face twist and it was irrational but he knew that that Vern knew.

The truck started back up and they were driving, and Vern wouldn’t look at him. He tried to slide over towards the middle of the truck but a quick glare sent him back, and he desperately needed to fix this. Just as he thought they were going to go the entire way in silence Vern spoke up, “Are you okay, Toby?” 

The anger had mellowed it seemed, not that Beecher trusted it. He kept his eyes down and shook his head, sure that Vern would see the movement. 

“Toby?”

“I’m sorry.” Not that he was really sure what he was apologizing for, but it was hard to get a good grasp on any of his thoughts. “I didn’t mean to... he was just there.” The words came back to him, how understanding Chris had been, and his eyes closed. “I barely even said two words to him, he’s working with O’Reily now.”

“You’re such a fucking slut.” Vern shook his head, anger and jealousy vying in his voice, “I thought we were making progress but I could see it on your face.”

“Vern... please.” He turned towards him, “I didn’t do anything. I told you how I feel, I talked to Ryan and I got my answers and I just... I just want to go home.”

“Yea, sure. Until you find somewhere better, right?” 

“Vern... sir... please.” Despite the warning in the look he moved closer and pressed into Vern but the same sense of security he’d had the last however long he’d been with Vern wasn’t there, not when he could still smell Chris. Could still taste him on his lips. “I didn’t do anything, please.”

After long seconds an annoyed sound slipped out of Vern’s mouth but he slid an arm around Beecher’s shoulders and pulled him close. “We’ll talk about this when we get home Beecher.” The arm tightened, “I know that you are just shit at dealing with this stuff Toby, that you can’t control yourself.”

It was so close to what Keller had said Beecher couldn’t help sniffling, because it must be true. It must be who he was. So fucking incapable everyone that knew him expected him to buckle under, to give in. For the first time in days he wanted a hit, wanted anything. It made his hands clench and his nose twitch but he forced himself to relax against Vern. 


	26. Chapter 26

They got back to the apartment and Beecher expected Robson to be waiting for them like before but when Vern opened the door he was nowhere to be seen. Vern stepped in and even though he had told the man to go he looked confused. “James?”

There was no response and Beecher muttered next to him, “You told him to leave.”

“I told the fucker to leave all the time, he always stuck around.” He seemed to forget that he had been adamant in telling Beecher that the man would go. 

Beecher watched Vern go look in the bedroom and come back out and he shrugged, “Guess he didn’t want to play prison anymore Vern.”

“Oh great, you the fuck too, huh?” Schillinger took the steps to bring him directly in Beecher’s face. “You got a problem Beecher, then say it to my face like a man.” He couldn’t help backing up a few steps but Vern grabbed him and pulled him up close, grip bruising him. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

He hadn’t been nervous but now he was and Beecher tugged at his arm, “You’re mad. Please back up, I didn’t do anything.” 

His back hit the wall and Vern crowded him, wrapping one hand in his hair and tilted his head back, slamming his mouth down over his. He opened his mouth to keep his lip from being split open but he didn’t kiss back, confused and scared and he just wanted a little bit of space. 

When Vern pulled back he looked even more enraged. “Changed your mind just like that? A few minutes of O’Reily and fucking Keller and you don’t want me anymore? Do I not... measure up Bitcher?”

Beecher was dragged off the wall and shoved into the room, Vern catching him and shoving him over the arm of the chair, a hand in his hair pressing his face into the couch cushions. He tried to protest, tried to escape but Vern was holding him down steady and reached around to undo his pants.

“No, please, no.” He really put effort into squirming, but he hadn’t expected something like this and wasn’t prepared to fight against it. Pants were down to his thighs and he was bare and only Schillinger’s hand at the back of his neck held him down, and it was clear he was getting his own pants down. He pressed over him until he was at Beecher’s neck. “I’m going to fuck you, remind you who the fuck you belong to Sweet Pea. You are  _ my _ bitch.”

“Please, Vern, sir, please don’t.”

It didn’t slow him down and Beecher barely had time to take a breath when suddenly Vern was sliding into him, making him scream. It hurt and he tried to pull away, but there was nowhere to go and he stopped fighting it, accepting that it was going to happen. Tried to close out the pain but there was no doing that as Vern grabbed him by the hair and pulled him.

“You think they are better than me, Beecher? I do everything to help you, have been busting my ass to get you better and this is how you react? You ungrateful fuck!” Each word was punctuated by a sharp thrust and then Vern was cumming, or Beecher thought that he was coming, he just felt Vern pull out and that was painful too and then nothing was holding him down. Clumsily he reached for his pants, trying to pull them up as he wiped away tears with his arm. 

Schillinger pulled him to his feet and yanked his pants up, ignoring that he winced, and spun him to face him. He didn’t try to stop the fear on his face, and Vern looked at him before he let him go. “Beecher I didn’t mean... fuck. Just... fuck. Go take a shower. Get cleaned up.”

Not daring to argue he headed that way, crying out when Vern grabbed his arm to stop him. A glance at his face showed that he looked destroyed, just as destroyed as Beecher felt, and with crystal clear epiphany he realized that the two of them together would always end this way.

In the bathroom he stripped down mechanically and got in the shower, scrubbing his skin until it was pink and raw before he got out. He was on autopilot, wrapping the towel around him. He only paused at the door for a second, startling when he opened it and Vern was standing right there.

“Beecher. Hey, no, relax.” He pulled him close when he tried to back pedal and eyed him up and down, “I didn’t mean to, I was just...” Vern looked like he was at a loss for words and Beecher could only look at him, licking his lips nervously and Vern sighed as he dropped his hold. “You know that I have problems too Beecher, you shouldn’t have pushed me...”

Toby nodded his head, “It’s okay.” It wasn’t, nothing had ever been more not okay, but he forced the words out of his mouth again, willed Vern to believe them. “It’s okay. I... it’s fine.”

Vern was searching his face but slowly his shoulders eased. “You’re okay Toby?”

He nodded his head, “It’s okay.”

“I’m going to take a shower. Just... sit on the couch and I’ll be out in just a minute and we will talk Toby, okay? This was... Oz was a bad idea.” Beecher nodded along with him, he just needed the man to go. To get in the shower. Vern finally sidestepped him and sounded insecure when he added, “You’ll be right here when I get out, right Toby?”

He couldn’t meet his eyes, not when he was lying to him. “It’s okay, sir.” Pain shot up through him and he even was relatively sure that even after the shower he still had blood or cum or both seeping down his leg. “You’re right. We shouldn’t have gone.”

Vern smiled at him and tilted his head down to kiss him and Beecher obliged, kissing back, not pulling away until Vern did. The last of the tension left the man’s shoulders and he moved into the bathroom, shutting the door. 

Beecher waited until the shower started and hustled into the bedroom. He pulled the duffel out from under the dresser where Vern had stashed it when he got there. He shoved his clothes into it, the money in the drawer going in his pocket and then he was out of there. He gave the bathroom door one more glance, a pang in his chest like he was betraying someone, and he didn’t want that. Vern had raped him, he didn’t want to  _ miss _ him. 

If Robson could leave, if that dumb ass moron was smart enough to know that it was wrong, then he should be able to figure that out too. He hit the street and didn’t look back as he slid the strap over his shoulder. He wasn’t worried about where he was going, he knew. 

The streets were familiar and something settled in him. A left turn, a right turn down a sketchy back alley, and he sidled up to the first scumbag he saw, lifting his face with a smile that said he was harmless. The money was out, the drugs offered, and it was an easy decision. He knew what he was. Parolee, major fuck up, addict. 

Hours ran into days, and Beecher lost track. He spent the money he’d had, there were a couple blurry blow jobs for more, and when that stopped working he realized he had to go to work. Did he even have a job? He couldn’t be sure how many days he had missed, but he pulled himself together and headed that way. Too fucked up to think straight. Desperate for another hit.

A dealer that had been supplying him caught his arm as he passed and he muttered something about going to work and they let him go. Yea, he just needed to get some more money.

Cuffs and Collars was only a bus ride away and then he was stumbling towards the entrance, sure that he looked like hell but it wasn’t like anyone was looking at his face. The bouncer’s eyes widened when he laid eyes on him and he was on his radio. Beecher tried to push past him but the man grabbed him and held him at arm’s length.

“Let me in! I gotta work!”

The bouncer didn’t say anything to him and before he could get upset with him, could do anything other than squirm and whine, Vern was standing in front of him. As fucked up as he was he startled backwards, scared, only the bouncer holding him keeping him there. 

Vern nodded at the man and grabbed Beecher, backing him down the sidewalk. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

It had been too long since he was high, and he blearily stared at Vern, his voice finally coming out in a whine. “I need more money.”

“You’re fucked up. God Beecher, it didn’t take you long, did it?” 

The words didn’t make it through and he tried to curl up against Vern, trying to touch him. “I’m sorry, help me. I just need... just need a little money.”

Vern eyed him, “You need to leave.”

He let him go and Beecher was startled for a moment before he stumbled after him, grabbing at his arm. “You raped me! You fucking owe me Schillinger! All of this is your fucking fault!”

Vern turned to him again, his face closed off and unreadable but he grabbed Beecher’s elbow and pulled him towards the club. “We need to talk. In my office.”

That sounded promising, he’d maybe get money, or he’d get fucked, anything to break through the numbness. He didn’t notice anyone as he was dragged through the club and finally they were in Vern’s office and he shoved him down on the couch. “Stay there. I’ll be back.”

The door slammed shut and Beecher was left alone, antsy and nervous. A few times he got up and went near the door but backed down quickly. The Vern he had walked out on was still fresh in his mind and he had no desire to get fucked over the couch in the office. Didn’t want to get hurt. Just wanted to get... he didn’t know.

It felt like forever that he waited when the door handle rattled. He pushed to his feet and licked his lips, tugging at his shirt with balled fists. Vern stepped in and shut the door, leaning back against it and met Beecher’s eyes. “I know I fucked up Beecher and I realized, I can’t help you. This isn’t helping you. Maybe you’ll do better inside.”

He didn’t understand the words and took a step towards him when the man moved from the door and it opened again to a police officer with his parole officer right behind him. His eyes darted to Vern, betrayed but then he only had eyes for hte officer pulling his arms behind his back, cuffing him while his parole officer smirked at him.

He was so fucked.

They led him out and he got one more glimpse of Vern standing there looking conflicted, looking unsure and he couldn’t help the small bit of relief from appearing in his chest. Because his parole officer was busy gloating about how his junkie ass was going back to prison but really Oz wasn’t such a threat. 

No, it was kind of like going home.


	27. Chapter 27

“Count!”

Beecher rolled over onto his side and made an unhappy sound, pulling the pillow over his head. There was a laugh from next to the bunk and the pillow was pulled away. “Come on Toby, rise and shine.”

“Fuck you Keller.” He tried to bury his face in the sheets but those were tugged away too. 

“Fuck me? Fuck you. Frisky this morning?” He could feel Keller move closer and his voice lowered, “Come on, hacks are coming through. You gotta get up, baby.”

With a groan he rolled over only to find himself face to face with a grinning Keller. He made sure to frown at him but he moved to slide off the bunk, leaving him pressed fully against Keller when he didn’t move back. 

A baton hit the glass before it could go any further and they both grinned as Keller gave him a nudge out of the pod, leaning against the glass as the guards took their count.

Beecher had settled back into Oz too easily for his own comfort, when he thought about it. Which wasn’t often. He was good at avoiding thoughts like that. Back to Em City, back to a pod with Chris Keller, and who knows how the man had managed to swing that. He hadn’t asked him, he didn’t care. 

Ryan was gone, too. An accident he had heard. Just like Keller had promised. It was nice for someone to keep their promises. He was in six months when he saw Robson in the cafeteria. They stared at each other but didn’t talk, not when Robson was surrounded by the Aryan brotherhood, apparently he had figured out how to get back in their good graces. 

Beecher wondered how he had violated his parole, wondered if he had gone back to stay with Vern but he hadn’t had long to think about it, Keller had wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and pushed him forward when he paused, fingers digging in painfully and he got the message. 

Without Ryan to supply him with drugs, without anyone since he had quickly learned that Keller made it clear that anyone that supplied him anything would be dead, detox came hard. And swift. He was clean though, and seemed to be staying that way, and fuck if Vern hadn’t been right about that. It didn’t matter though, once an addict always an addict, he just traded one habit for another. Being Keller’s, it was more than enough to keep him busy. To satisfy his itch. To get his fix.

“Beecher. You got a visitor.”

He glanced up at the guard and then to Keller, waiting to see what he would do. The man was playing cards though and not paying attention and he looked back to the hack, “Who?”

“Do I look like your social coordinator Beecher?”

He was about to tell him to fuck off, well to tell the guard he wasn’t interested anyways because the only person he could imagine would visit him would be his father, and they had already been clear about what they thought about him using again. How  _ disappointed  _ they were that he was back in Oz. Chris nudged his leg though, “Go on baby, see who it is.”

“I don’t want-”

“Go.” Keller finally looked up from the cards to Beecher and tilted his head towards the guard. It was an order and Beecher sighed as he pushed to his feet, following the guard towards the visitation room. Nothing would keep him there once he got there, Keller had only said he had to go, not stay.

He had himself prepped to see his dad, already going over his words, though ‘fuck you’ didn’t take much time to rehearse, so when he entered the visiting room and didn’t see him, only saw Vern Schillinger sitting there, he froze in the doorway, not sure what to do.

Schillinger pushed to his feet as soon as he saw him though and motioned at him to sit down and he found himself following the unspoken command before he thought about it. He did glance back the way he had come once, already dreading how angry Keller was going to be and then he was at the table, sliding into the uncomfortable plastic seat.

“Toby-”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He hadn’t heard a peep from Vern in the year he had been back in Oz. At first... at first he might have thought the man would visit, or call, or do  _ something _ . Even if it had come from Vern he had believed the words, had believed that the man cared about him and wanted to change, and that he never checked in hurt.

Schillinger rubbed the back of his head and looked around the room before he looked back to Beecher, and he looked about as thrilled at being there as Beecher was. “Robson said... Robson mentioned that you’ve been clean.”

Beecher tilted his head, not sure what he was going after. “Why the fuck are you here?”

“And back with Keller-”

“I’m done.” Beecher shoved to his feet but Vern grabbed his arm and yanked him back to the table and he snapped out, “Yup, Keller’s prag. Aren’t you proud.”

“Beecher, I didn’t... I didn’t come here to fight. I just wanted to say that I ... I was proud that you stopped using and... I told you that people change Toby.”

His lip curled at the words, he didn’t need Vern Schillinger to be  _ proud _ of him. He put both hands on the table and leaned in close. “Nobody changes Vern. I’m still a junkie bitch and you’re still a rapist whether we are in Oz or out free.  _ Nobody changes _ .”

Vern looked shocked at the words and when Beecher yanked his arm away he didn’t stop him. Beecher took two steps but stopped to look at him, meeting his eyes. “You didn’t fix anything Schillinger, I’m just as fucked up as I was and so are you. At some point you have to accept that maybe it’s just who we are.”

Eyes were on them but Beecher didn’t care as he headed out of the room. It felt good to tell him off, and he believed the words and he hoped that they hurt Vern. Hoped they burned. He didn’t look back at all, focusing on what he was going to tell Keller. 

Word had already reached Em City by time he got there and he was met in his pod by Keller grabbing his hair and shoving him against the wall, hand sliding down to the side of his neck with a bruising grip. “You met with Schillinger? Are you kidding me Beecher?”

He didn’t fight against the grip, leaning into it, because that was what he was. “I didn’t know it was him, you’re the one that told me to go.”

“Yea, not if I had known it was your little Aryan fuck buddy.”

Instead of starting a fight he pressed his body against Keller, shifting until their hips rubbed against each other as he tilted his head up towards him. “I told him to fuck off and I came right back.”

Keller watched his face and the hand slowly eased off, sliding around the back of his neck to brush against his hairline. “Who do you belong to?”  
A smile curved Beecher’s lips, he didn’t know if it was supposed to be a threat, or an attempt to humiliate him but the words came out easy. “You. I’m yours.” Keller grinned and pulled him in for a kiss and when he pulled away he buried his face in the side of Beecher’s neck, mouthing it, biting it hard enough to bruise, marking him. He glanced past him, holding him close, and couldn’t help thinking about what he had told Vern. This is who he was.

“Hey, Toby.”

He was lying on his bed, reading a magazine, but tensed as Keller moved into the pod not really looking at him. He knew that tone of voice and dread crept through his stomach. 

Lowering the magazine he turned his eyes to Keller, “Hey.”

“Guess what I just heard?”

Toby glanced out of the pod, couldn’t see anything out of the usual, if something had happened there should be some kind of sign. Licking his lips he looked back to Keller, nervous about how gleeful he was. “What?”

“Your pal Schillinger apparently got into a drunken brawl.”

He had Beecher’s attention now but he worked to make it seem like he didn’t care, didn’t want to antagonize Keller by being too interested. He shouldn’t be surprised, the man had probably attacked some black guy at a bar, had probably run his big stupid fucking bigot mouth, and Beecher couldn’t help shaking his head. He knew that he was right, no one changes. Suddenly the glee made sense to him and he took a deep breath and he knew his voice shook. “Did he get arrested, is he coming back to Oz?”

It would be like one happy family, wouldn’t it. He didn’t know how to feel about Vern being back, about seeing him, his body still remembering even after all this time what it felt like when the man touched him, back when he was in Oz and in their apartment and he was pulled out of his thoughts by Keller laughing.

“No! He was pulling some guy off a dancer and got stabbed. Bled out.”

Practice kept his face schooled and he knew that Keller was looking for some kind of reaction, something to jump on but he didn’t give it to him. “He’s dead?” The words were casual, with just a bit of interest. 

“That okay with you Beech? Want to maybe cry a little over it?” He put his hands out in a mockery of comfort. “Want me to hold you?”

The words came out mellow despite that on the inside Beecher felt a little like he was hyperventilating. “Guess he got what he deserved.” Vern Schillinger had been such a part of his life, mostly bad true, it felt like a vacuum with him gone. Felt like it wasn’t real. Keller grabbed his jaw hard and turned it towards him, looking over Beecher’s face, trying to read how he was really feeling, trying to figure out if he was lying to him and finally seemed content, shoving his face away carelessly. 

“He sure as fuck did Toby. One less fuck for you to worry about, right baby?”

He nodded his head and Keller grabbed his thigh, squeezing it comfortingly before he dropped to his own bed, leaving Beecher with his thoughts. 

Beecher waited to make sure Keller wasn’t going to try to trick him, wasn’t going to pop back up and accuse him of caring about that nazi fuck, before he laid back on the bed. Vern had died doing his job, protecting someone that he didn’t care at all about, and Toby just didn’t know what to think of that. 

Had the man changed? Was he even capable of changing? Getting fucked over the couch should have been his answer, the man had hurt him just as casually as he ever had, but was it just a slip up? Was his drop back into heroin just a slip up?

He was back in Oz, Robson was back in Oz, Schillinger was dead. That should be his answer. Should tell him that there was no reason to go clean, no reason to try, because nothing changes and you end up right back where you started. But Vern had died protecting someone, and that meant something. It had to.

He stared at the ceiling, and traced nonexistent patterns in the sheets as he waited for lights out. Waited for Keller to tell him what to do, waited for his next fix. And wondered what Vern’s last thoughts had been.

In 8 months, 2 weeks and 3 days Beecher would have his next parole hearing. He hadn’t cared, hadn’t even considered it because people like him deserved Oz. 

But maybe... maybe people could change. It wasn’t like he had anything to lose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


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